Thrice Defied
by Nevermorian Knights
Summary: James Potter and Lily Evans. True love sprung from hate, murdered by the darkest wizard of the age. End of story, right? Wrong. You see, it's not quite that simple. For first they defied him three times...
1. Chapter 1

The sun was setting.

His fingers drummed impatiently against the tabletop. Though his Charms homework lay spread out before him, it had long since been forgotten in favor of waiting in giddy anticipation for the coming of night.

James Potter knew should have felt slightly guilty, being Head Boy as he was, about what he was planning on doing. It was in violation of just about every law that had ever been set before a student of Hogwarts, and he, of all people, was going to be the perpetrator. Professor Dumbledore had given him the badge because he trusted him to obey the rules and set an example.

He snorted to himself. _Yeah, right,_ he thought.

Besides, it was tradition: they, the Marauders, went out together every full moon, since the beginning of time (or, more accurately, since the beginning of their fifth year). It was like Christmas coming all over again every month.

"Calm down before you wet yourself, Prongs," one of his companions said dryly. Sirius was stretched lazily on the rug in front of the heart, musing over a game of wizards' chess with James' other best friend, Remus. The latter sighed as he prodded his rook forward to begin beating up his opponent's queen. "Checkmate," he said in a bored voice. "I can't believe you fell for that move _again._ I win."

"Big surprise," another grumbled from the armchair above their game, looking up from his Transfiguration essay. "Remus _always_ beats you, Sirius."

"Oh, shuddup," the loser in question snapped. "You won't even _try._"

"He knows it's hopeless," James remarked, stretching. "How long did you stay in the game this time, Sirius?"

The dark-haired boy glanced at his watch, and raised his eyebrows. "Seventeen whole minutes… not bad."

"What's your record?" the boy in the chair asked.

"What do you care, Peter?" he growled, heaving himself off the carpet and installing himself in the chair next to James. "I guess it'll give you something to aspire to, seeing as your record's about… let me think… _zero._"

"Leave him alone, Padfoot," Remus groaned. "Can't you ever lay off him?"

"What _is_ your record anyway?" James asked, elbowing Sirius as he reached for his bag of chocolate frogs that lay on the table.

"Against Remus?" He frowned, taking one and cramming it into his mouth. "Twenty-two minutes," he said, spraying bits of chocolate everywhere.

"Sirius!" James moaned, brushing it off his homework in disgust. "You can recopy this Transfiguration essay for me, now that you've gotten your saliva all over it..."

"Twenty-two minutes?" Peter said, looking up in surprise.

"With his average closer to three," Remus added, joining them at the table. "James, honestly, you'd think you actually _did_ your homework with as much space as it's taking up. Move it, will you?"

James gathered all his papers into an untidy stack and shoved them into his bag. He glanced out the window. "Don't you think you oughta be going, Moony?" he muttered, leaning closer to him. "The sun's nearly down."

"Eh… probably." He sighed and stood up again. He looked weak and shaky, but he grinned mischievously anyway as he stood up. "Don't you go getting into any trouble tonight," he warned his companions. Then he was gone, disappeared out the portrait hole and into the night dark corridor beyond.

Peter continued working on his Transfiguration homework, while James and Sirius played a rather violent game of tic-tac-toe, in which the loser was attacked by his opponent's quill until he was covered from head to toe in black ink and painful cuts. They were both laughing uproariously before they had finished their fifteenth successive game, and before long they had broken into a fully-fledged ink fight. Then the portrait hole opened, and Sirius, who was facing it, stopped mid-throw and grinned sheepishly at whoever had just entered.

James, whose back was to the portrait hole, whirled around to find himself face to face with a very pretty, very cross, and very dangerous seventh-year, a redheaded young woman. "Oh… Evans," he said, grinning. "How nice it is to see you! Care to join in our game?"

"Thanks, Potter," she said scornfully, "but I'm busy. In fact, Professor Slughorn was just telling me that he needed help scouring his iron cauldrons; I'm afraid his first-year class managed to get them rusty again." Her face lit up in mockery of having a sudden idea. "Hey—maybe you two would like to help!"

James made a face. "Are you kidding?"

"Yes, actually," she said smugly, "of course you wouldn't. But you're going to anyway. Detention at eight o' clock in Slughorn's office tomorrow night. After you clean up this mess." She gestured at the ink-splattered tables, walls, and chairs. "I'll let him know you're coming."

"You can't give me a detention!" James said indignantly. "I'm Head Boy!"

"Lord knows why," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Though it's not detailed in my job, I suppose it's my responsibility as Head Girl to at _least _make sure you don't behave _worse_ than the third-years. Good night, Potter."

James glared after, his hands clenching into fists. "Hey, mate," Sirius said, clapping him grimly on the shoulder, "at least the common room was mostly empty, or she'd have made us scrub it off all the whiny little first-years who got dirty, too."

"Hey, Peter!" James shouted across the room, throwing one of the armchair pillows at the person in question, "come help us clean this up!"

"No," he scowled, throwing it back. "You made the mess."

James shrugged. "Fine." As he turned his back, Peter yelped, staring in horror at his hands, which had turned all splotchy—with ink, apparently.

Sirius sniggered. "Not sure I like your new look, mate," he said, nodding towards the inky effect that was now spreading over Peter's face. He turned away. "_Scourgify,_" he muttered, and the ink on one wall disappeared.

"No hard feelings," James beamed at Peter, who was glaring at him murderously.

"What's the counter curse?" he demanded.

"We'll tell you," Sirius said good-naturedly, "if you'll help us clean up."

Muttering darkly, Peter pitched in.

Half an hour later, the tip of the moon made its first appearance over the distant horizon. James looked up from his Exploding Snap tower, a thrill of excitement shooting through his body. "It's time," he whispered.

Upon which his deck of cards promptly exploded in his face.

Anxious and excited despite his singed eyebrows, James crept through the entrance hall towards the enormous oak doors on the other side, squeezed between his two friends, a piece of parchment in one hand and his wand, the tip lit with a yellow glow, in his other.

"I think we're getting too big for this, mate," Sirius whispered, wincing as James accidentally trod on his foot.

"We're fine," James muttered. "Stop moving the cloak, Wormtail, or someone's going to walk in here and see three pairs of legs sticking up from the ground.

"No one's anywhere near here," Peter snapped. "Filch is on the third floor, and most of the teachers are in the staff room."

"All the same, we don't want to be seen," James hissed.

"Well," Sirius said dryly, "it won't help being invisible if they can hear us talking."

"Then shut up," James muttered.

Finally, they were out, free on the grounds that were bathed in silver light. They hurriedly made their way towards a gargantuan, imposing tree about five hundred meters away.

As they shuffled towards its base, it seemed as though the branches of the tree came alive. They began creaking, twisting, moving, like a predator that smelled its prey approaching. James yanked his Invisibility Cloak off the three of them.

"Wormtail," he said, bowing mockingly and motioning to the tree, "the stage is yours."

Peter took a deep breath and began running towards it. As he ran, he began shrinking. His legs began to rotate differently, and it wasn't long before he was down on all fours, using his hands to run as well… except that they were no longer hands. They were tiny clawed paws, which sprouted from the body of a rat with red eyes and a long, bald tail. The rat crept towards the tree, which began flailing uncontrollably. However, the rat moved unharmed past its deadly branches and leapt up to a spot on its trunk about two feet from the ground. The knot it pressed shuddered slightly, and then the entire tree ground to a halt.

"Hurry," Sirius whispered, prodding James forward. "Thirty seconds."

James looked as though he were about to get down on his knees and crawl, but before his hands even touched the ground, he had transformed as well. A magnificent stag with four sets of tines on its antlers pawed the ground and snorted, then looked to its left to be confronted with an enormous black dog where Sirius had been. If the stag hadn't known that dogs couldn't smile, he would have thought that this one was smirking.

Prongs led the way past the dead-looking branches of the Whomping Willow and into a dark hole at the base of its trunk, between the roots. Wormtail leapt from its perch on the tree to the stag's left antler, where it curled up and wrapped its tail around a tine for balance.

They followed the tunnel for a half-mile in silence before it came to an abrupt halt at the foot of a flight of rough stone steps. The three animals exchanged excited glances. They could hear an unearthly howl above them.

His hooves making sharp noises against the stone, Prongs ascended the staircase and emerged into a house that looked as though it had been attacked by a stampede of ferocious beasts. It was only one beast, actually, a beast that was only a beast once a month—namely, their friend, Remus.

The wolf growled, its ears perked, as they climbed the next set of stairs to the second floor. It had paused in the middle of chewing up a leg of the bed that was pushed against the wall. It looked up, and Prongs saw some of the madness fade from its yellow eyes.

_Hello, Moony_, he thought.

Carefully, the dog, the rat, the stag, and the wolf crept down the stairs and to the front door of the house. It had been boarded up to keep the wolf from getting out, but the animals had wrenched it open and slipped through it many times. They found themselves looking down at the village of Hogsmeade. The stag was ready and riling to take off towards the trees in the distance, but the dog sat still, watching as the rat slipped away and into the darkness to keep watch.

_What?_ Prongs thought, wondering if he'd read the look in his eyes and the jerk of his head correctly. _What are you thinking?_

And then Padfoot bounded off silently after the rat.

After a moment, Prongs realized why. _He's suspicious,_ he thought._ He doesn't trust Wormtail to do what he says he's doing._

Pawing the dirt nervously, he looked at Moony, who was snarling softly._ I can take care of it,_ he thought confidently. _I can do it._

Before he could talk himself out of it, he took off towards the distant forest, cutting through the village, Moony close in his wake.

* * *

It was not long before dawn; the moon hung just above the western horizon. Prongs' coat was slick with sweat and his mouth foamy with lather, but the thrilling exhilaration that pumped through his veins drove away any exhaustion.

He glanced at the moon with a slight feeling of regret, and he gave the wolf a nudge towards where he knew the shack was. Obediently, Moony bounded in that direction.

They had almost reached the Whomping Willow when Moony ground to a halt. His nose sniffed the air, his body rigid. Then his eyes went wild.

_Uh-oh,_ Prongs thought.

Before he could intervene, the wolf bounded in direction of the forest once more.

The stag took off after him, taking his eyes off his friend only long enough to glance at the moon overhead. Only a tip of it was still showing; would it go down in time?

They were nearing the edge of the woods. _Whose blood does Moony smell? _Prongs asked himself furiously. _Who's stupid enough to come out on a full moon? There aren't even any Muggles around!_

He kept glancing at the moon while trying to gain on the wolf. _Go down…_ he urged it. _Go down…_

It did.

The wolf collapsed. Prongs skidded to a halt beside where it lay, twitching and convulsing. Slowly, the hair started to recede and the limbs reformed. The snout grew shorter and lost its black nose, and after a moment, a very pale, very sick-looking young man lay in the dirt, moaning in agony.

"Prongs," he whispered when his dark eyes flickered open. His face contorted as another wave of pain hit.

The stag glanced around nervously to make sure they were alone. They were in a secluded clearing, surrounded by low, tree-covered hills; they were safe.

Prongs reared up on his back legs, pawing the air, and then James Potter stood where the stag had been. He dropped to his knees.

"James…"

"Shh," he commanded. "Lie still."

"Why're we… why aren't we in the Shack?"

"You… you bolted off just before I got you inside."

What color was left in Remus' already white face drained out of it. "I smelled someone, didn't I."

James shrugged, turning away. "Maybe."

"James," Remus moaned, trying to sit up again, "this is too dangerous. I could've bitten someone…"

"Lie _still,_" James growled, pushing him back down.

He complied, but after a moment, he sat bolt upright again. "What was that?"

James looked at him strangely. "What was what?" He hated trying to discern noises that Remus heard; his friend had exceptionally sharp hearing even when it was_ not_ the full moon, but for the three days on either side of it, Remus couldn't even stand it when they talked loudly around him because his ears were so sensitive.

"That," he said, looking wildly around for the source of whatever he was hearing.

"You know I can't hear it," James said exasperatedly.

He had spoken too soon. The noise came again, and this time it reached James' ears.

"Barking," he whispered. He looked at Remus.

"Sirius," they said simultaneously.

_

* * *

Crack._

Peter jumped and looked around him nervously. The three people he was standing with gave exasperated sighs. "Listen, Pettigrew," one of them drawled, "For the last time, there is _nobody here._ We're not going to be discovered."

The man sounded sure, but Peter knew differently. There were at least two others in these woods, though he wasn't about to tell the other men that.

"What if he finds out?" Pettigrew muttered, reaching out hesitantly for the vial the other man proffered. "He probably has ways of detecting attempts on his life. Why can't _you _do it?"

"Goodness, halfwit, do you really think he'd drink something he gets from _me_? He'd _know_ there was something suspicious with that. He hated me when I was at school."

"Dumbledore?" another one of the people, this one a woman, scoffed. "Dumbledore doesn't hate anyone. Not even you, Lucius, merited though it may have been."

"Shut up, Cissy," he snarled. "So, Pettigrew, good luck, then."

The first rays of dawn were lighting the sky. Peter was a lot more relaxed now, knowing that Remus was no longer charging through the woods as a fully-fledged werewolf.

"Wait…" their third companion hissed. "There's something coming."

Peter's eyes widened, and he whirled around, panicking. Whoever it was would find him associating with Death Eaters. "Make it look like you're attacking me!" he whispered hurriedly. "Otherwise I'm dead!"

"Obligingly," the one called Lucius grinned.

Peter found himself flat on his back, ropes curling around his body, a wand at his neck. Not a moment too soon, it turned out. Emerging from the trees into the clearing in which they stood was an enormous black dog.

"Sirius," he gasped, pretending he was in pain.

The dog, seeing the fix he had walked into, began backing away slowly, barking.

Lucius raised his wand.

"It's just a dog," the woman sighed. "Leave it alone."

"Just a dog, eh?" Lucius snarled, a strange glint in his eye. "Then why did this prat call it 'Sirius?' Strange coincidence, seeing as your dear blood traitor of a cousin is named Sirius."

The dog took off, but it did not get far before the blue spell from Lucius' wand hit it in the side. It yelped, thudding to the ground. Several moments later, a young man stood up, holding his wand high and shaking his long, dark hair out of his face. "Hello, Narcissa," he spat, walking slowly towards them.

The woman inhaled sharply. "He's… he's an Animagus," she whispered to her companions.

He bowed mockingly. "At your service, Cissy."

"Our Lord will reward us greatly for bringing him," the other man whispered.

"Quiet, Ignatius," Lucius snapped.

"So," Sirius began, advancing slowly, never loosening his grip on his wand. He was glad they couldn't tell how slippery from cold sweat that grip was. "You _have_ joined Lord Voldemort."

"Don't say his name," Ignatius hissed. "Not with your filthy, unworthy mouth."

"You're right. I should never have let a word like that defile my speech," he sneered. He sounded a lot cockier than he felt. _James,_ he thought desperately, _now would be a very good time to show up._ "Let Peter go," he demanded.

Narcissa laughed out loud. "You've grown brazen, cousin."

"I'm no longer your cousin," he spat. "My dear old mum has blasted my name off of the tapestry of the 'Noble and Most Ancient House of Black,' I'm sure."

"You are a plague to your family," she hissed. "A filthy blood traitor. You don't deserve to be called a Black."

"Good riddance," he said vehemently. He was stalling for time, and judging by the way Lucius' eyes were narrowing, he knew it. _James, where are you? Surely you know something is up by now…_

Lucius had been walking slowly towards him. Without warning, he shouted, "_Crucio!_

Sirius screamed in pain, writhing and twisting as he fell to the ground. It felt as though white hot iron were being pressed against every inch of his skin, as though his entrails were being torn out of his body.

The curse lifted, and he lay still, half moaning and half whimpering. Lucius stood over him and spat in his face. "You stupid boy," he said derisively. He waved his wand, and Sirius gasped; a long, bloody gash had appeared across his chest. "One spell. That's all it took, and now you're out of commission." He made the cutting motion with his wand again, and another one crossed it. He cried out in pain.

Ropes snaked out of the end of his wand, wrapping themselves tightly around him and binding him effectively. An anti-Apparition spell kept him where he was.

_Great. Just great,_ he thought. _James! _He sighed. _At least one good thing might come of this. I screamed so loudly just now James must've heard it._

Someone was approaching, and a second later, the newcomer entered the clearing. Painfully, Sirius lifted his head from the ground to see who it was, though he was almost positive it was James. The person he saw, however, was quite the opposite of his best friend.

"Well," he said dryly, putting his head back down, "hello, Lily."

* * *

Her heart pounded wildly as she glanced around at the scene before her eyes. This was _far_ from what she'd expected.

_Well, _she berated herself angrily, _what _did_ you expect? Someone was screaming. That should've indicated trouble._

"Now, what have we here?" one of the men said mockingly.

Black and Pettigrew were both lying on the ground, bound tightly with thin, gray cords. She inhaled sharply at the sight of the former: his chest was smeared with blood, and his face was contorted in pain. There was a man standing over him, his foot on his chest. For the first time in seven years, Lily Evans felt sorry for Sirius Black. Neither Potter nor Lupin was there.

There was _crack_, and Black raised his head again, this time to see what the noise was. Lily glanced towards where it came from. There was a figure coming through the trees, who had apparently stepped on a stick.

She had spoken too soon.

There was Potter, glaring and pointing his wand very determinedly at the men and woman who stood over his friends. "Get away from them," he spat heatedly.

"Ooh," the woman laughed. "I'm terrified."

"We need to go," the man standing over Black said. He grabbed a fistful of Black's hair and wrenched his head off the ground, and suddenly his wand tip was digging into his captive's neck. "Put your wand down, kid, or I'll kill your friend."

This wasn't what she'd bargained for. She'd gone down to Hogsmeade early on Professor McGonagall's orders to order five barrels of butterbeer for that night's Halloween Feast, but the Three Broomsticks hadn't been open, and while she was waiting, she'd heard the screams. Without hesitating, she had run towards the source, which turned out to be about half a mile into the woods. Now she half wished she hadn't.

Potter glanced nervously at Lily, then did a double take. "What are _you_ doing here?" he demanded.

"Wand down, kid!" the other man shouted.

"Alright, alright," Potter said quickly, tossing his wand to the ground. "Evans, put yours down."

"No," she said angrily. "Are you kidding? They'll kill us!"

The man dug the wand into Black's neck.

"_You're _killing my best friend!" he snarled. "Put it down!"

She glanced from Black to Potter to Pettigrew, and slowly, she lowered her wand.

The woman Disapparated without another word, as did the man whose wand wasn't at Black's throat. The remaining man grinned at Potter and Lily, standing there looking murderous. "Goodbye," he laughed, and then he disappeared.

And so did Black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Lauren:** Sorry it took so long to update. Since I wrote the last chapter, Juneaua was _supposed _to write this one, but then she up and went to San Francisco… and she didn't write it before she left. Actually, she wrote a page and a half of it. We can give her credit for that much, at least. For those of you who haven't read our profile (most of you, probably), I am _not_ schizophrenic, nor am I convinced that I have an imaginary friend. I share this account with my very real, very solid, and very tangible friend, Juneaua, who is currently whiling away her time on the West coast in San Franwhereveritis.

Chapter 2

The room was so dark that Sirius wouldn't have been able to see his hand in front of his face, even if he had been able to put it there. As it was, his wrists were bound cruelly behind his back. The Death Eaters had thrown him to the floor as soon as they had arrived, and they had left once they were rid of him, taking his wand and locking the door with a complex spell.

He felt the cool wood of the floor against his cheek. His chest was pressed to the ground, and he could feel his lifeblood seeping away through the cracks from the wounds on his chest. He was growing light-headed, and he knew that unless the bleeding was stopped, he wouldn't live very long. He rolled over painfully.

It couldn't have been more than a minute after they had deposited him there that the door opened again. The man who entered was silhouetted against the light behind him, and Sirius could discern no more than that he was tall, narrow-shouldered, and walked confidently.

"Hello, Sirius," said a cold, derisive voice sneered.

He could hear his heart pounding. His palms were sticky with sweat, and he tried to move away from the man, but fear had paralyzed him. He knew who this was.

He had been in the _Daily Prophet_ every day for two years now. He was growing more and more powerful, more and more respected and feared. Half of the wizarding world thought he had devised the best way to purge the half-bloods and muggle-borns from their race—to simply kill them off. The other half was too terrified to do anything to stop him.

"Voldemort," Sirius muttered.

"I have a proposition," the callous voice said. He waved his wand, and the ropes around Sirius's wrists vanished. "As the situation currently stands, you're going to bleed to death in this room unless someone saves you. I'm giving you the opportunity to accept my healing powers."

"And what do you want in return?" Sirius spat, trying to sound derisive and more confident than he felt. "I won't join you."

"No?" Voldemort asked quietly. "That's a pity. You could be wealthy and powerful beyond your wildest dreams."

"You'll have to do better than that. You can't buy me."

"Everyone has a price," Voldemort sneered. "I just have to find yours."

"It's not a monetary one."

Voldemort's lip curled into a malicious smile. "Well then. Let us see if we can buy you with pain."

Sirius felt his stomach twist.

"_Crucio!_"

Sirius had only one second to think, _Not again,_ before the spell hit and he was twisting and writhing in agony on the floor for the second time that night, and Voldemort was laughing cruelly above him. The curse lifted, and he lay half-moaning, half-whimpering on the floor.

"You are determined not to join me?"

"Never," Sirius gasped. "I'm not like the rest of my family."

"Indeed not. You're a blood-traitor. Admit it."

"With pride."

"You will suffer yet," Voldemort snarled, turning his back on Sirius and striding out the door. "You have not felt real agony."

The door slammed behind him, and Sirius dragged himself weakly into a corner.

_I'm going to die…_

* * *

As soon as the Death Eaters were gone, James snatched up his wand and whirled towards Peter. "What happened, Wormtail?"

They all jumped as another noise nearby cracked through the tense air. A moment later, Remus, pale, shaking, and looking as though he were about to collapse stumbled into the small clearing where they stood. "What… what happened?"

James strode towards him and helped him to lean against a tree. "I told you to stay there," he muttered, though he was too preoccupied to be angry. Then he turned back to Peter.

The smaller boy recoiled under James' fiery gaze and swallowed hard. "Well…well, I was…uh…" A muscle in his face twitched nervously, and he glanced sideways at Lily. "I was just…"

"Go on," James growled, his wand quivering in his shaking hand.

I was…just keeping watch…" Peter muttered the last part, casting another wary look at Lily.

"Sorry, didn't catch that last bit," Lily said crossly, folding her arms.

"Keeping watch," Peter said a little louder, fiddling nervously with a hole in his robes.

"Keeping watch? What were you keeping watch for?" Lily turned to James. "And why, pray tell, were you out this late? Or this early, rather."

"That's none of your business!" James snapped, and then turned furiously back to Peter. "Then what happened?"

"I was keeping watch—"

"Yes, we've established that, thank you," snapped Lily irritably.

"Oh… yeah. Well, I was ambushed. By the Death Eaters. They tied me up, and they told me they wanted Sirius. They kept asking where Sirius was. And I told them I didn't know. But then Sirius showed up, and I tried to tell him to run away, but they got him, and…" he trailed off.

James' hands unconsciously clenched themselves into fists. He had never felt panic or fear like this. He had read about the war in every paper for the last few years of his life, but suddenly it wasn't just a story on a page anymore. It was real.

And for the first time in his life he was at a loss. He had always been the one to come up with the brilliant plans, the one who knew how to get them into trouble and back out before anyone realized what they had done. But before, it had always been petty things like stupid pranks or his harebrained idea of becoming Animagi or exciting variants of their monthly escapades to the Whomping Willow by the full moon. But now it was life or death. It was real. A human life was hanging in the balance. And not just any life: the life of his best friend.

"Okay… okay…" James ran his fingers through his hair. "What do we do?"

Lily was utterly fed up with the whole situation. "I'm going to tell McGonagall," she said fiercely. She began to stalk off.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, _impedimento!_" James' spell hit Lily in the back and she was frozen instantly. "You're not going anywhere! We can't tell anyone!"

Remus, leaning on a nearby tree to support his still-weakened body, said hoarsely, "Let her go, James."

"She's going to tell Dumbledore or McGonagall and get us all expelled!"

"Someone's got to know, James," Remus replied evenly. His knees buckled slightly beneath him, and he grasped the tree a little tighter. "We can't save Sirius alone."

"But by the time we tell someone and they get there Sirius could be dead!"

Remus opened his mouth to say something, but closed it as the truth of James' statement sank in. Peter was looking from one to the other with a very frightened expression pinned on his features.

The Impediment Curse had begun to wear off, and Lily's hand was inching down towards her wand.

"Prongs!" Peter squeaked, pointing at Lily in warning.

James whirled and grabbed Lily's wrist before she could reach her wand. She struggled against his grip. "Let me go!" She raised her other hand to slap him, but he caught that one with his wand hand before her palm reached his cheek.

"Please, Evans, listen to me!" James pleaded. "If we don't go now, he'll be dead before Dumbledore or anyone can help him," .

"Remus and Lily are right, though," Peter stuttered. "We need to…to tell someone. Otherwise we'll die and no one we'll know!" That thought seemed to petrify him, and he turned even whiter.

"We can't—" James began, but Remus cut him off.

"I don't care if we go, James—in fact, we need to go—but we have to tell someone where we've gone," Remus interjected fiercely.

James wet his lips agitatedly. Remus could tell his friend was not handling this stress well. "Right…right…" James kept a firm grip on Lily and jerked his head in Peter's direction. "Wormtail, you go. Tell Dumbledore what's happened. Tell him to follow us if he can. He'll understand."

Peter squeaked. "Me? Tell Dumbledore?"

"Either that or come with us and fight the Death Eaters," James replied grimly.

"Erm… point taken. Good luck." Peter turned on his heel and scampered off into the trees. James watched his silhouette against the pale light of morning shrink down into his rat form and prayed Lily had not noticed. "And as for us three, we're going after Sirius."

Lily's laughter was choked with disbelief and panic that, for the first time in his life, James might actually be serious. "Potter, you've had a lot of crazy ideas in the seven years I've known you, but this is insane! This is suicide! You can't go up against Death Eaters! You don't even know where they've gone!"

"Well, you're clever!" James cried desperately. "There's gotta be some kind of spell to trace where people have Apparated to!"

"You can't trace Apparition, idiot!" Lily burst out. "And let go of me!" She jerked free of his slackened grip. "And I'm not coming with you because you're not going anywhere! I'm not going to let you!"

"He's my best mate, Evans. I can't let him die!"

"Then let Dumbledore save him!"

"How many times do I have to tell you!? By the time Dumbledore gets there it'll be too late! He was bleeding, Evans! He's dying! Those Death Eaters'll kill him!"

"He's right, Lily," Remus interjected quietly. "Sirius hasn't got time."

Lily moaned. "Come on, Remus! Don't tell me you're going along with this crazy scheme!"

Remus pointedly ignored her and addressed James. "And I think I know how we can find Sirius."

James' hand stopped halfway through a run through his hair. "How?" he demanded.

Remus finally gave up trying to stand and let himself sink to the ground. "The mirrors," he breathed. James could see that he was in pain, that he could hardly hold his head up, but there were more pressing matters on his mind.

"The mirrors?" he repeated.

"Yes," Remus said hoarsely, "those blasted mirrors that you and Sirius use to communicate while you're in detention. Those mirrors. James…"

He had doubled over, clutching his stomach, and he was gasping for breath. Lily, whose face had been momentarily livid at such a breach in protocol as communicating during detention, changed quickly into a look of concern. She glanced at James, then back to Remus. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"I'm feeling sick," he muttered.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why did you come out of the castle if you were feeling so miserable?"

Nobody answered her.

James looked worried, but he was fingering something in his pocket. "You'd better go back with Peter, mate," he urged, trying to help him up. "You're not doing so well."

"No," Remus said determinedly, pushing James' hand away and standing up on his own. "You'll need all the help you can get. I'm coming. Get that mirror out."

James looked as if he were about to protest, but he changed his mind and withdrew the object he had been fiddling with. It was a small mirror, about three inches square, with a chip out of one side. James held it up to his face and said clearly, "Sirius."

He watched the glassy surface, his heart pounding, praying that Sirius had taken his with him. There was always a chance he had left it back in the castle, and if that was the case, they had no chance of finding him. His mind rushed for a few painful, agonizing moments, and then he was answered.

His best friend's face appeared in the mirror, and James let out a sigh of relief. Sirius had a bloody nose and his face was pale as death, but he was alive. "James," he whispered.

"Thank God," Remus muttered, pulling himself to his feet and moving around James to stand over his shoulder. Lily curiously moved in as well.

"Sirius, where are you?" James demanded. "Show me the room."

Sirius blanched. "You can't come to try to rescue me, mate, you'll never make it out alive."

"I don't care because I can't just let you die, either. Show me the room."

"No," Sirius said obstinately. "I won't let you."

"You don't have a choice," James snarled. "Sirius—"

"This place is probably swarming with Death Eaters," Sirius hissed. "I've tried to get out, and I can't. You have no chance, and if you come, we'll both die."

"Sirius—"

But then his friend flung the mirror away as though it were a hot iron, and it landed face up, giving them a view of a dark stone ceiling. They heard footsteps in the background, and then the sound of a door opening.

"See, I told you he wouldn't be able to get out," a gruff voice said. "He's still right there."

The door shut again, and Sirius picked the mirror up off the floor.

"Look, Prongs, I'm not telling you—"

"That's okay, mate," James said brightly. "We'll be there in a moment." He slipped the mirror into his pocket, screwed up his eyes, and concentrated hard on the patch of ceiling he had seen. He hoped Remus and Lily had gotten a good enough look at it because he was not about to wait.

His body felt as though it were being squeezed through nastily tight bands, and for a moment he could not breathe. A second later, his legs slammed into the ground, and he stumbled a bit.

Sirius was slumped in a corner, his head in his hands. At the _crack_ that James made upon appearing, he looked up, and James gasped.

Sirius' chest was soaked in blood, pouring from the two nasty gashes that formed an X on his chest. His hands were pale and shaking. He looked up weakly as James knelt in horror beside him. "Why didn't Peter say how badly you were hurt?" he whispered, casting his mind around in frantic search of a spell that would help.

There were two almost simultaneous _cracks_ from behind him, and James whirled around to find himself face to face with Lily and Remus. The latter caught sight of Sirius, knelt shakily beside him, and grimaced. "Hang on," he whispered. "_Scourgify._" The blood disappeared, and they could clearly see the wounds. He waved his wand in a fancy pattern and muttered some complex-sounding spell, and the skin twisted and merged to seal them.

"It won't hold," Remus said worriedly. "It'll split open again, and it'll scar worse when it does heal. But it's probably good for half an hour. And it probably doesn't help the pain…"

"No," Sirius grimaced, pushing himself off the floor, "but at least I won't bleed to death. Thanks, Moony."

James was gazing around the room in search of something. "There's gotta be a better way out than the door," he muttered.

"Maybe you should have thought of _that_ before you charged blindly in here," Lily said scathingly, drawing her wand and sending a silver beam shooting around the room. It rebounded off the walls and ricocheted past them.

Sirius' mouth dropped open as he noticed Lily for the first time. "Erm… James, what is _Evans_ doing here?"

"Saving you," she snapped irritably. "Be quiet for a moment, would you?"

They were silent, and the silver spell continued to bounce around the room. Sirius and Remus were both leaning weakly against the wall, neither strong enough to stand on his own. After a minute, Remus hazarded a question. "Uh… what exactly _is _that, Lily?"

"An Anti-Concealment Charm," she answered distractedly, her vividly green eyes following its progress around the room. "When it finds another way out, it'll stop."

"We couldn't just… Disapparate?" James suggested.

"I've tried," the other three answered simultaneously. Remus continued. "There's some kind of charm against it. Apparently, they weren't expecting anyone to Apparate _in,_ or we wouldn't be here."

"Ah," James said. He was very aware of how much danger they were in. He didn't know what kind of building this room was a part of, but unless he was very much mistaken, it was swarming with Death Eaters.

The spell bounced off the wall and flew directly towards the door, which absorbed it. "Well," Lily said matter-of-factly, "that's our only way out."

James glanced at his companions. "Then I guess we'll have to take our chances, won't we."

Hesitantly, he crossed to the door and grasped the handle. He jiggled it, but it wouldn't turn.

"Do you honestly think the Death Eaters would have left the door unlocked?" Lily asked contemptuously, nudging him out of the way as she examined the lock. With her tongue between her teeth, she jabbed her wand at the lock and muttered, "_Alohomora."_

"Oh, look," James said sarcastically. "There's no way they would have left it unlocked, but Evans thinks they _might_ have locked it with such a simple charm that you don't even need a _wand _to counteract."

Lily was about to snap back that _most_ people needed a wand to do it, but that would have only inflated his ego, which was already so full that it was about to burst. Instead, she tried a more complex unlocking spell, and this time it clicked open. She smirked at James and led the way out.

The hall was brightly lit, but it was deserted. If Lily had to hazard a guess, she would have said they were in a castle. The walls, ceiling, and floor were made of moss-covered stone, and water dripped through cracks in more than one place. Torches were hung in brackets every twenty feet along the wall, and windows that were more like slits—_arrow slits, maybe, _Lily thought—provided a view of the steadily-lightening sky.

She had no idea where they were going, but she figured that no one knew any better than she did. The only other one she trusted to be smart about leading the way was Remus, and he was too weak to walk on his own; he was leaning against James.

They had rounded two corners and gone down one flight of steps when James halted for a moment. Sirius, his breathing labored, was lagging behind, but he refused to accept help, and he walked forward determinedly. Lily was waiting impatiently at the other end of the corridor, tapping her foot anxiously. "C'mon!" she hissed, as James and Remus still waited for Sirius. "Black, I'll _help _you if it means we can get out of here faster."

"No," he muttered, looking pale but quickening his pace, "I'll be fine."

Lily muttered darkly under her breath and rolled her eyes, but she had to admit that Sirius was strong. Obnoxiously, stubbornly so, but all the same….

She turned around to continue on her way, and her breath caught in her throat. There was a man standing in front of her, leering down at her. She heard James yell, but before she could do anything, the man seized her wrist and twisted her arm painfully. She whimpered. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, poking a wand into her stomach. "How did you get in?"

Lily looked frantically around for a way to escape. He was holding her hand so that she could do nothing with her wand, and she was physically no match for him. She could only pray that one of the boys behind her would do something about it.

A moment later, the man bellowed in pain as a red bolt of light hit his face. He released Lily and stumbled backwards, clutching at his skin, which had suddenly begun to grow thick black fur. Lily whirled around to see Remus aiming his wand determinedly at the Death Eater.

"Thanks," she gasped, breathing hard as she stepped away from the man.

But his shout had alerted the rest of the building. There were others calling to each other, wondering what was wrong. The companions glanced at each other.

"Time to be gone," James said decisively, taking the lead. He broke into a run. Even Remus and Sirius forced themselves to sprint doggedly along behind James and Lily. They dashed through corridors, blessing whatever luck it was that kept them from running into anyone else. They went down whenever they could. The windows told them that they were still aboveground, and going down would take them to the ground-level floor.

They could hear footsteps only a few hundred feet and several corners behind them. The Death Eaters were not in view yet, but they soon would be. Remus and Sirius were slowing down, gasping for breath, and James kept urging them gently on. Lily took the initiative and led them down another corridor.

She was about to round the next corner when she heard footsteps coming from that direction as well. She halted in her tracks.

"We're trapped," she whispered.

"Look," Remus gasped, pointing to a plain wooden door in the wall, "in there. Quickly."

Lily pushed it open and stumbled inside, hurrying the other three in after her. She slammed it, pointed her wand at the doorknob, and muttered with all the breath she had left, "_Colloportus._"

She whirled around and saw her surroundings for the first time. They were in a sort of study, with bookshelves lining all of the walls except one, where an immense desk sat with a chair in front of it. There were three single candles floating above its surface, and their glow cast an eerie, flickering light around the room. There was a fireplace next to the desk, and on the mantelpiece was a deep bowl.

James had spotted it as well, and he crossed quickly to it. "Floo powder," he said, running his hands through the fine, sand-like grains in the bowl. He took his hand out and pointed his wand at the fireplace. "_Venniflamus,_" he muttered, and a fire sprang to life behind the grate, which he grasped and pulled from its place, flinging it to the ground behind him. He grabbed a handful of the powder and tossed it into the flames, which immediately changed from red and orange to emerald green.

"You first, Sirius," he said urgently. "Go to Dumbledore's office, tell him where we are, and then get to the hospital wing."

Sirius looked as though he were about to argue, but he could hardly stand, and he realized he would not be anything but a hindrance if he stayed. He stepped into the flames, opened his mouth, and shouted, "Dumbledore's office!"

"Remus, you—" He broke off with an exasperated growl. "Remus, now is _not _the time to be browsing for books! We're in rather a hurry here!"

Remus was looking at a bookshelf that was encased in glass. "Hang on a moment," he said softly, gazing at a large, leather-bound book that stood out from all the rest because of how enormous it was. He tapped his wand against the lock on the glass case. It clicked, and he slid it open. He pulled the book off the shelf. James was surprised that, weak as he was, he was able to lift the thing.

"Honestly," James said in frustration, "you couldn't have waited until we got a chance to go to the library. You have to steal it from Lord Voldemort—"

Remus ignored him and grabbed a pinch of the Floo powder, tossing it into the flames. He stepped into the fireplace, the dark book in his arms. "Dumbledore's office!" he shouted, and he disappeared.

James distractedly tried to hand Lily the bowl, glancing nervously at the door, but she pushed it away. "You go first."

"No," he said determinedly, tossing some into the flames and pushing her towards the fireplace. "Go."

"You first."

"Evans…" James said warningly, taking a threatening step forward. He opened his mouth to say something more, but then a voice spoke from the doorway.

"How touching," it said mockingly.

They whirled around simultaneously. Leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe was a tall man with raven black hair, pale skin, and dark eyes. He sneered as they stepped nervously back. "How did you get in here?" he asked conversationally, straightening up and advancing slowly towards them.

Neither of them answered. They exchanged a quick glance.

"Do you know who I am?" the figure asked in a quiet voice. A deadly quiet voice.

Lily and James looked at each other again, and they both whispered, "Lord Voldemort."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Juneaua: Yes! I am writing this one! I'm back from San Fran, which was amazing. And Lauren's chapter was so good (even though she went a lot farther than I planned…) it inspired me! So enjoy! Please review! Your lack of input is slightly disheartening…**_

James's whole body had gone cold. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe.

_This is all my fault…_

He stepped protectively in front of Lily. "Go, Evans…" he hissed frantically. "Run! I'll hold him off!"

"I'm not leaving you!"

James shoved her towards the green fire. "Go!"

Voldermort flicked his wand as Lily staggered into the fireplace, and the flames vanished. James reached for another handful of flu powder, but the jar shattered with another brandish of Voldermort's wand, slicing James' hand with its shards. He yelped in pain and pulled away quickly.

Voldermort laughed softly. "None of that now, Mr. Potter. You've only just arrived. And while you're here, I think we should have a little chat. _Expeliarmus!" _James's and Lily's wands flew from their hands and Voldermort caught them, stowing them inside his black, billowing robes. He flicked his wand lazily, and ropes exploded forth, wrapping themselves around James's and Lily's wrists. "I must say, Mr. Potter, I'm quite impressed. I didn't think even Dumbledore himself would be able to find Sirius Black. Yet here you are." His thin lips drew back in a leering smile.

James's hands were shaking, but he willed his voice to remain steady. "Let Lily go. She's got nothing to do with this."

"How very noble," Voldermort sneered. He was stroking the tip of his wand with a long bony finger. James felt something like a small gust of wind whoosh by him, but was too fixated on Voldermort to pay it any mind.

"Let her go," James repeated, a little more firmly.

"James…"

James was so cold with fear he didn't even register her use of his first name as he turned. Lily's face was white with fear, and she was staring at the rope around her wrist. James looked as well and saw that it was no longer a rope: the thick cord had morphed into a long, black serpent, which was now slithering in circles around Lily's wrists.

"Careful, Miss Evans," Voldermort said softly, his smile widening. "If she bites you, I'm afraid there will be no hope of survival. I wouldn't make any sudden movements_—_better yet, no movement at all." Voldermort turned from Lily back to James, his lips still curled in that icy smile that chilled James's blood. "You know, James Potter, I was going to kill Black_—_kill him because he was a blood traitor and a disgrace to his family name. But now that you have rescued him, I think it only fair that your life now belongs to me in his stead." He raised his wand, pointing it at James. with a malevolent sneer playing around his mouth. "How very noble, to lay down your life for a friend." James' heart leapt into his throat, panic gripping every inch of his body as he braced himself for the inevitable. "_Crucio!_"

James collapsed to the ground, a scream of agony tearing itself from his throat. Lily gasped, biting back her own cry for fear of stirring the snake around her wrists.

Voldermort left his wand on James for what seemed like an eternity, a cruel sneer teasing his lips.

Finally, he raised it and released James, who remained crumpled on the floor, moaning.

Voldermort chuckled softly. "Your first Cruciatus Curse, James Potter?"

James pulled himself laboriously onto his knees, his hands balled into fists, pressed against the stone floor, breathing like he had just run miles. Voldermort studied him for a long moment, the tip of his wand resting against his chin. "You are strong, James Potter. Stronger than many men I have killed. And you are no more than a boy. But at the same time, you are weak—you refuse to face the inevitable, which is a world free of Muggles and Muggle-borns. You are a weak, pitiful, weak boy."

"I am not weak!" James spat without looking up.

"Then prove it." Voldermort flicked his wand and James was dragged to his feet, then thrown against the wall behind him with a sickening crunch of bone. "Fight me, James Potter. Show me what Albus Dumbledore has taught you. _Crucio!_"

Again, James was on the floor, screaming in agony. Tears were burning's Lily's eyes. As much as she hated James Potter, watching anyone suffer like this was unbearable. He probably deserved a year's worth of detentions, but he did not deserve this.

"Let him go!" she said suddenly, intending to sound strong, but coming off terrified.

Voldermort surveyed her for a moment, then removed his wand from James. "You, Miss Evans? Are you willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for your friend?"

"He's not my friend," Lily snapped automatically.

Voldermort raised his eyebrows. "If you think that, you have never seen the way he looks at you." Voldermort pointed his want at Lily's wrists, and the snake tightened its hold. Lily gave an involuntary shudder. "He was going to give his life for you. Didn't you hear him? 'Go Lily, I'll hold him off,'" he mimicked derisively, then laughed, high and cold, sending new tremors of terror down Lily's spine.

"He's stronger than you!" Lily said, surprising herself with her own daring. "You're a wizard, a powerful wizard, but you just go picking on everybody weaker than you, everybody who gets in your way. You thrive off hatred and greed and lust, basking in your own glory. James would give his life for me, or Sirius, or anybody. His strength comes from love, not hatred. He hasn't even finished school, and he's twice the wizard, and a hundred times the man you could ever hope to be."

James looked up at Lily through his dark, untidy locks falling in front of his eyes, a sheen of sweat coating his face and she caught a mixture of surprise and gratitude in his expression, mixed with something more, an emotion she dared not place.

Voldermort crossed the room in two strides, cupping Lily's face in one long, bony hand with unnecessary force. She cried out in fear, his snake like face mere inches from hers. "Brave words for one in such a precarious position." He pointed his wand over his shoulder at James again. "_Crucio!_" James collapsed again, screaming in agony.

Lily cried out involuntarily, and she felt the snake slide its head against her thumb, it forked tongue dancing across the back of her hand. "Let him go!"

Voldermort's hand slid down from Lily's face to her throat, tightening his grip, closing off her windpipe. Lily choked for breath, struggling to fill her lungs. Voldermort laughed derisively. "Double the pleasure: to kill you both at the same time."

"_Cognatus!_"

Voldermort staggered backwards, releasing Lily, who stumbled backwards against the stone wall.

James was weak and wandless, but there was enough sustenance to his spell to cause a shower of blood to erupt from Voldermort's face. The Dark Lord reached a long fingered hand up to his face, wiping a trail of blood from his eyes, his expression livid as he advanced on James, who dragged himself arduously to his feet and moved in front of Lily protectively.

"You dare to defy me, James Potter," Voldermort's voice was pure ice now, a cold bite like the lash of a whip. "You dare to fight me? What power do you posses to use magic against I, The Dark Lord? What kind of fool are you?"

James did not respond, simply glared defiantly up at the Dark Lord.

Lily felt a sudden surge of admiration for James Potter. This boy, who had always played the class clown, the jock, the bully, was suddenly replaced by a man, daring and loyal, a true Gryffindor, ready to lay down his life for the girl who had treated him like dirt through all their years of school.

Voldermort pointed his wand at James' chest and hissed venomously, "Let me show you how it's done. Let me show you pain. _Sectumsempra!_"

James fell backwards against the wall, and the scream that had been itching Lily's throat tore itself free. The snake around her wrists raised its head, hissing angrily, but Lily had forgotten it. Blood was pouring from his face, his chest, as though slashed by an invisible blade. He collapsed to the ground, trembling in a pool of his own blood.

"NO! Stop!" Lily dropped to her knees beside James in horror. She wanted to reach out to him, to help him, to save him, but feared to touch him because of the snake around her wrists that was growing angrier every moment. It began to curl up her arm, slithering in circles until it reached her neck and brushed its forked tongue against it.

Voldermort raised his wand. "You have tasted no pain until death."

Lily closed her eyes, bracing herself, feeling the snake's fangs brush her neck.

"_Avada—_"

"I think, Tom, that that will be quite enough."

Lily opened her eyes, afraid that this was all a dream, and that the only man she knew could save them had not arrived.

But there he was, a serene, pleasant expression on his face, one long-fingered hand stroking his long white beard.

Dumbledore had arrived.

Lily gave a little gasp as the snake twirled around her neck. "Professor," she breathed.

Dumbledore glanced in her direction, then flicked his wand. The snake was suddenly gone, no more than the strand of rope it had been moments ago.

Voldermort was looking livid, his thin lips tight with fury as he whirled to face Dumbledore. "You!"

Dumbledore smiled placidly. "Yes, me. Once again, I have turned up again and spoiled your plans, Tom. I have a nasty habit of doing that, wouldn't you agree?"

Lily wasn't listening anymore. She couldn't care less what transpired between Dumbledore and Voldermort. They were safe. Dumbledore would protect them.

She reached out to James and drew his head into her lap. He was barely breathing. "You fool," she whispered quietly, wiping the blood from his face with her sleeve, even though it was replaced moments later by a fresh spasm. "You damn fool, James Potter. You had to be the hero, didn't you? You had to go and stick your neck out for me." She laughed quietly, but it turned into more of a sob. "I used to think you were the stupidest boy I'd ever met. But if it weren't for you—you and your stupid ego—I'd be dead." She closed her eyes.

Everything was cold, but nothing hurt anymore.

Somehow, in the midst of so much darkness, there was light.


	4. Chapter 4

Hallo, chaps! 'Tis I, Lauren, once again ready to present to you a new chapter in our story. Thank you for the reviews, those of you who left them, and for those of you who didn't, please start doing so with this chapter. Anyway, enjoy, review, and critique if you wish! Toodles!

Chapter 4

James felt his consciousness slipping quickly away with the lifeblood that was pouring from his wounds. He tried to push himself to his feet, but a strong, gentle hand kept him pinned to the ground. He blinked to rid his eyes of the white fog that was blurring his vision, trying to see who was holding him down, and he found himself looking at Lily, who had an expression of mingled worry and exhaustion as she gazed at something James couldn't see. Laboriously, he turned his head to face the object of her stare, and a wave of relief swept over him.

Dumbledore was here. They were saved.

Lily sat beside James, her attention riveted on the duel before her. It was slow, almost calm—the wizards took their time, speaking to each other almost conversationally—but it had a frightening intensity about it that revealed that neither was as cool as he appeared.

"I am far more powerful than you ever thought I had the potential to be, Dumbledore," Voldemort said softly.

"Quite the contrary," Dumbledore answered. "You always thought that I believed you to be unintelligent, but I never did." A bolt of static-blue light shot out of his fingertips.

It struck Voldemort in the chest, but he simply curled his lip cruelly; it had no effect on him. "Indeed," he hissed, and Lily half expected his tongue to dart out like a snake's. "That is why you never liked me, Dumbledore. You were afraid of me."

Dumbledore inclined his head severely. "I was afraid of what you might become, for others' sakes more than my own. And you see I was right to be concerned. Look what you have made of yourself, Tom."

"Tom," Voldemort sneered derisively, taking a slow step forward and sending a beam of white light shooting out of his wand. Dumbledore deflected it. "Tom. That name is no longer mine. That is a name for a weak, foolish wretch, like my filthy father, a name that inspires awe in no one. Mine is a name that they fear to speak, a name that trembles when it slips from men's lips, a name that strikes trepidation into the heart of those whose ears it reaches. My name is Lord Voldemort."

Dumbledore, appearing supremely unaffected by this speech, addressed Lily without taking his eyes off of Voldemort's face. "Are you hurt, Lily?"

She swallowed hard. "No, Professor."

"Help James stand and use the Floo powder to get him to the hospital wing. Once you have delivered him safely to Madam Pomfrey, proceed to my office. Do you understand?"

"I—yes, sir." She turned her attention to James, who was rapidly loosing consciousness. Ignoring Dumbledore and Voldemort's continued battle, she took hold of his arm and threw it around her shoulder, standing laboriously under his weight. He gasped in pain, but he tried to support himself nonetheless. Together, they stumbled towards the fireplace. Lily used her free arm to point her wand at the ashes, and the fire that Voldemort had put out sprang to life. She scooped what Floo powder she could from the broken bowl and tossed it into the flames, dragging both her hand James into it and blessing her luck that the fireplace was so big.

Lily felt herself begin spinning rapidly, and she tucked her elbows in to keep from banging against the walls. Keeping her hand clenched tightly over a wad of James's robes, she closed her eyes. Seconds later, they tumbled out of the fireplace and onto the floor of the Hogwarts hospital wing.

Madam Pomfrey bustled out of her office, humming softly to herself, and then she caught sight of Lily and James. "Merlin!" she shrieked, dropping the stack of towels she had been carrying and rushing to his side. Lily looked down. There was blood all over both of them, enough that Lily was sure that if they had been five minutes later, he would have bled to death. He was unconscious now, breathing rapidly and erratically as Madam Pomfrey conjured a stretcher beneath him and bore him to a bed. Lily watched, a strange lump in her throat, as the Hogwarts nurse began attending to his limp form.

She remembered dimly that Dumbledore had instructed her to go up to his office, but that could wait. She crossed to James's bed and asked worriedly, "Will he be alright?"

"I don't know," Madam Pomfrey said grimly, pouring copious amounts of a thick, brown potion into a goblet. "Help me feed this to him."

Lily held his mouth open while Madam Pomfrey poured it down his throat. "What in heaven's name happened?" she asked weakly, gazing with a sort of horrified fascination at the nasty cuts that crisscrossed his chest and face.

"We were… attacked," Lily said, not offering any details.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but she asked no more questions as she began gingerly removing James's robes from his bloody torso and took out her wand. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave, dear," she said distractedly, pulling the curtains around his bed shut.

Lily remembered that she was supposed to be in Dumbledore's office. To her surprise, it seemed of secondary importance. Her mind, as though coming out of a trance, was starting to process all that had happened in the last few hours. They had been incredibly lucky, and though she was mostly unhurt, she was thoroughly shaken. It was a miracle she had survived.

_James might not, _said a small voice in her head as she left the hospital wing. She banished it with a snappish, _Shut up,_ and strode briskly toward the headmaster's office.

The stone gargoyle sprang aside when she said, "Fizzing Whizbee." She mounted the spiral staircase that was moving slowly upward, opened the door to the office, and ran smack into somebody.

"Oh… Lily, thank goodness."

It was Remus. He was pale, but he looked relieved. To her immense astonishment, he reached out and embraced her. "When you didn't come right after us, we were worried, and then Dumbledore left to find you…" His brow furrowed as he pulled away, leaving her blinking in surprise. "Where's James?" he asked. "Did he get out alright?"

"He's… he's in the hospital wing." Lily glanced around the office. It was empty, save for the portraits on the walls that whispered quietly to each other.

Remus looked alarmed. "The hospital wing? Why?" he croaked. "What happened?"

"After… after you left, we… we…"

"They were attacked," said a deep voice from inside the office, "by Lord Voldemort."

They both jumped and turned to see Dumbledore stepping serenely out of the emerald-green fire, looking down at them both through his half-moon spectacles. He waved his wand and two chairs appeared out of thin air in front of his desk. "Please," he said, "sit down."

Lily and Remus glanced at each other, and then they sat edgily in the chairs as they were bidden. Both were sure they were about to get the berating of their lives. Dumbledore sat down in his own chair behind his desk, placed the tips of his long fingers together, and asked quietly, "What happened?"

Remus was staring at his feet, looking sick, so Lily took the initiative. She launched into the tale, telling how she had stumbled across Peter and Sirius being attacked by Death Eaters, gone to rescue the latter after he'd been kidnapped, been cornered by the most evil wizard in centuries, and watched him torture James before Dumbledore had shown up. Remus listened intently to the last part, and Lily was sorry to see that the tale made him look as though he were on the verge of vomiting.

When she finished, she lapsed into silence, readying herself for the rebuke, but it never came. Instead, Dumbledore continued to survey them quietly for a moment before he said, "Mr. Lupin, you had a book in your arms when you stumbled out of the fireplace into my office earlier."

Remus glanced up. "It's on the mantelpiece. I'll get it." He stood wearily and crossed to the merrily crackling fire, picking up the large book that Lily had seen him take from the room in which Voldemort had cornered them. He placed it on Dumbledore's desk. The headmaster slid it towards him, surveyed it for a brief moment, then looked back up at the pair of them. "Both of you," he said after a moment's appraisal, "look exhausted from this morning's escapade. Mr. Lupin looks as though he didn't sleep at all last night." Lily saw Remus look up and swallow hard when he met Dumbledore's eyes, whose usual twinkle had been replaced by a benign but rather strange glint. "I suggest you return to Gryffindor Tower."

Lily stood to go, but Remus remained seated. "Professor," he said hoarsely after a moment, "Sirius and Peter—"

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore, nodding. "Mr. Black is in the hospital wing having his injuries attended to, and Mr. Pettigrew has returned to his lessons, as he is unharmed and mostly unshaken by his part in this ordeal. I know," he added, "that you would far rather go and visit your injured friends, but I assure you that Madam Pomfrey will have quite enough on her hands without you hovering over them. I am sure they will recover quite as well without your company, as they are currently unconscious anyway."

Remus started to nod, but stopped quickly and looked on the verge of losing whatever he had last eaten. He stood to follow Lily out the door.

Once they were outside the stone gargoyle and treading the familiar route to Gryffindor tower, Remus asked, "Did Madam Pomfrey say whether James would be alright?"

Lily swallowed hard, that strange lump rising in her throat again. "She said she didn't know."

He inhaled sharply, but Lily continued hurriedly. "I think that was only because she didn't know whether the cuts had magical properties or not. She can heal wounds like that no problem… remember when she did Martha Holmes after she lost control of the knife she was using to cut her Potions ingredients?"

"What if they _were_ magical?" Remus mused quietly.

"I try not to think about that," Lily answered grimly.

He looked at her, a funny expression on his face. "I thought you hated him."

"I do," she snapped. "I… I did." When he continued to gaze at her, she felt her face grow hot. "Oh, come off it," she said defensively, "you can't think I hated him so much that I wanted him to _die,_ can you?"

He smiled slightly. "You know at the end of our fifth year when he asked you out and you told him you'd prefer to go with the Giant Squid?"

"Yes," she said squeamishly. She forced her mind off of Voldemort's words from earlier that day, when she had vehemently snapped that she was _not _his friend. _"If you think that," _he had sneered,_ "you have never seen the way he looks at you. He was going to give his life for you. Didn't you hear him? 'Go Lily, I'll hold him off!'"_

"Well…" Remus said slowly, "he never stopped meaning it."

Lily felt her stomach lurch uncomfortably. _Stop that,_ she told herself furiously. _Brave or not, noble or not, he's still the same old Potter who can't seem to stay out of detention despite his status as Head Boy. What Professor Dumbledore was thinking when he made _that_ decision, I'll never know…_

But try as she might, she could not think of James Potter the same way she had only six hours ago.

"Look," she said, trying to form her thoughts into words. It was hard, seeing as she couldn't figure out what she thought herself. "_I've_ stopped meaning what I said. About the Giant Squid, I mean." Realizing what she had said, she corrected herself hastily. "I mean, maybe if it were between him and a merman or maybe a hippogriff… What I'm trying to say is, I don't mean that I want to go out with him. I just don't _hate_ him anymore."

They had reached a portrait of a very large lady in a gaudily pink dress. "Password?" she asked.

"_Fizzywinks," _they said together in a bored voice.

"Ah," Remus nodded, smiling sagely. "You just… _strongly dislike_ him."

"Yes," she said, satisfied, as she began to ascend the steps to her dormitory. On the last step, however, she turned to face him. "Remus?" she said softly.

He turned on the stairs to his own room, looking at her expectantly.

She hesitated momentarily, swallowing hard. "You can tell him I said that."

He raised his eyebrows and said nothing, but before he turned, she caught a glimpse of a wan smile that flitted across his weary face.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Juneaua: Hello everyone. Sorry this took a bit in coming, even though it's been in my head for a while. This week has been….tough. To say the least. And then HP 7 came out (which had a freakin' amazing ending, and which thankfully didn't say how Lily and James defied Voldermort) and I just HAD to devour it! But please drop book 7 and keep reading our story! And, more than anything, PLEASE keep reviewing!**_

_**Love, Juneaua**_

_**Music… And I am Telling You from "DreamGrils" **_

The last thing she wanted to seem was overeager, or worse, infatuated.

So Lily waited two whole days before she went to see James.

But when she reached the hospital wing, she was turned away by a pale Madam Pomfrey. "You'll have to come back later, dear," she told Lily distractedly.

But Lily didn't move. "Is he going to be alright?"

"I said come back—"

"Please tell me!" Lily pleaded, her voice coming out a little more desperate than she intended.

Madam Pomfrey stopped what she was doing and met Lily's eyes. She looked very drawn. "I've tried everything I could think of. Those wounds won't heal."

Lily's stomach wrenched uncomfortably.

James didn't leave her thoughts for the rest of the evening. She went up to bed early, so preoccupied that it was several minutes before she realized she was trying to pull her pajama bottoms on over her head.

She lay in bed for hours, until the whole dormitory was full and many of its occupants asleep, her thoughts abuzz. When the clock finally chimed twelve times, Lily gave up on sleep, pulled on her dressing gown, and headed downstairs.

The common room was nearly deserted. There was a small group of sixth years, huddled in a corner over a massive-looking essay, a pair of fourth years in the middle of an emotional conversation, one of them bawling, and the other patting her on the back and saying something consoling to the effect of "He's just a boy," and a few second years deeply involved in a game of Exploding Snap.

Lily sank down in an armchair near the fire, letting a deep sigh escape her lips. She stared into the flames for a long time, trying to sort out the jumble of feelings tangling themselves up inside her.

The portrait hole opened behind her, and she turned.

For a moment, there was no one there, then out of nowhere, Sirius appeared, pulling off a shimmering Invisibility Cloak when he thought no one was looking. He began to slip towards the boys' dormitory stairs when Lily stood up quickly, stepping into his path.

"Black."

Sirius stopped, glaring at her. "If you're going to try and give me detention for being out of bed after hours, Evans, you can save your breath."

Lily was taken aback by the sharpness of his voice. "I wasn't. I was just going to ask if you were doing alright."

Sirius shrugged. "I'm better now, thanks," he said coldly.

Lily paused for a moment, then asked softly, "How's James?"

Sirius's face flushed with anger, then pushed past her roughly. "Why do you care?"

Lily was taken aback. "Because he saved my life, in case you've forgotten."

Sirius turned away, sweeping his dark hair out of his eyes. "What a waste."

Lily felt something hot flash inside of her. "Excuse me!?"

"I said it's a waste!" Sirius rounded on her furiously. "It's not a secret, Evans. It's never _been_ a secret James likes you. He _adores _you. And you have treated him like scum from the moment you met him. Do you know how many times you've broken his heart? I've never seen him so upset over anything, let alone some stupid girl! And I kept saying 'forget her, forget her and stop hurting.' But he was such a bloody idiot and so madly in love he's going to end up dying for you!"

"Don't you dare pin this on me, Sirius Black!" Lily screamed, fully aware that the whole common room was listening, but she didn't care. "Don't you_ dare_ tell me this was my fault!"

Sirius made an indignant noise in the back of his throat.

"Well, if I remember correctly, I was roped into joining a stupid little mission to rescue _you_!" Lily snapped.

"Oh, so you're saying it's _my _fault my best friend's dying?"

"DON'T SAY THAT!" Lily screamed, terrified of the feelings that were pooling inside her heart. "He's not going to die!"

"Since when have you cared!?" Sirius demanded. "Name me one time you have ever done _anything _for James Potter?"

There was a small explosion from behind them. They both jumped, jerking back to reality sharply. The game of Exploding Snap had just burst in a puff of smoke, which cleared slowly to reveal the stunned-looking second years behind it, giving Lily and Sirius an embarrassed grin of apology.

Sirius turned roughly on his heel and stormed up to the boys' dormitories. Lily stood still for a moment, unsure whether she wanted to cry or scream. Then slowly, she headed up her respective staircase.

Half way up, she stopped, unable to go a step further, sat down heavily on the stairs and let her head sink into her hands, trying to calm the tidal wave of emotion crashing inside her.

_It was my fault..._

She didn't realize she had drifted off until a voice that sounded a hundred miles away said, "Lily, did you sleep there all night?"

Lily sat up sharply, sending a stabbing pain through her cricked neck, and found herself staring up at the smiling face of Audrey Aching, a tall, blonde girl who shared a dormitory with Lily.

Lily shook her head slightly, trying to clear the sleep from her brain.

"I…I suppose I did," she replied groggily.

Audrey giggled. "Are you alright, Lily?"

Lily faintly wondered if she had ever been less alright in her life, but she found herself saying, "Yes…yes, I'm fine."

* * *

Lily made two more trips to the hospital wing before Madame Pomfrey finally let her in.

"I've managed to close most of the wounds with dittany, but they're taking their time in healing. I'm afraid they'll scar badly," she told Lily as she led her to James' bed. "He's doing better, but he's still very weak. So do try to be quick, dear. He needs his rest."

Lily nodded, breathless, and Madame Pomfrey turned on her heel and strode quickly away, leaving them alone.

James's eyes were closed, his face very pale. Lily felt her stomach turn as she examined the wounds that crisscrossed his face and bare chest with a sort of morbid fascination. She reached out and traced the longest of the cuts across his face, which stretched from his forehead, across one eye and his lips, then down to the opposite corner of his chin, with her finger, feeling slightly sick.

Sirius's words were ringing in her mind. _"Since when have you cared!? Name me one time you have ever done anything for James Potter?" _

_He's right, _a tiny voice in her head prompted. _This is James Potter. You hate him, remember? Since when have you cared?_

_Since this moment, _whispered another, softer voice.

She drew her fingers away slowly, studying his face.

"You don't have to stop."

Lily jumped so high she nearly fell off her chair, her heartbeat doubling in speed.

His eyes still closed, James smiled. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't," Lily said, trying desperately to calm her beating heart. "Well…yeah, you did. But…" she quickly changed the subject. Judging from the look on James' face, he was about to make a smart remark. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I'm going to die," he moaned softly.

"Seriously, Potter."

"Now Evans, why would I ever lie to you?" James rolled over laboriously, wincing in pain, and opened his eyes.

"Madam Pomfrey said all the cuts had sealed up," Lily said, sounding falsely cheerful.

"But they still hurt like hell," James grimaced.

They were silent for a moment, then Lily said, "Listen, Potter, I've wanted to say—"

James interrupted her. "How is it that we're inches from death at the hands of the darkest wizard that ever lived, and you can call me by my first name without either of us batting an eyelid, but as soon as we're back in a school setting, I'm 'Potter' again?"

Lily smiled. "Okay…James." Her heart skipped.

He smiled. "Yes, Lily?"

"I've been thinking…and I just wanted to say…I'm sorry."

James raised an eyebrow. "Sorry? For what?"

"For everything I've done to you. And because this is all my fault." She was trying—and failing—to swallow the tears that were welling in her throat.

James chuckled softly, settling back against his pillows. "You've been talking to Sirius, haven't you?"

Lily was taken aback. "Why does it matter?" she asked haughtily.

"Because he's been jealous of you since our first year."

Now it was Lily's turn to laugh. "Jealous? Of me?"

"Yeah," James replied. "Because of all the times I paid more attention to you than I did to him."

Lily felt a red flush rise in her cheeks, and she looked away quickly.

James seemed to sense he had made her uncomfortable, because the tone of his next comment was much more light and teasing. "You know, I haven't asked you out for all of…how long's it been now? A whole month? That's gotta be some kind of new record."

Lily smiled. "Have you given up?"

James shook his head, but he stopped quickly because it hurt too much. "Nah, I just think I know what the answer will be."

Lily didn't say anything for a moment, then she said very quietly, "Why don't you try again."

James smiled. He could feel his consciousness slipping as the pain coursing through his body magnified, but he was fighting with all his strength. He would not pass out in front of Lily Evans.

_You idiot, _said a small voice in his head. _Just swallow your ego for a second. _

"Lily Evans, will you go out with me?"

Lily's brain seemed to have stopped. The sensible, rational side that always dominated her senses was now pushed into second gear as a wilder, romantic woman she had never known before took over. It was almost frightening. But more than that, it was exciting. "Yes."

There was something swelling inside James, something like triumph, like elation, but there was too much astonishment and denial to be sure what it was. His vision was clouding, but victory was shinning through the fog, victory in the form of the red headed girl with the fiery spirit looking tenderly down at him.

"Say that again…just so I can be sure all this pain isn't making me delirious."

Her face was swimming, but he could see she was smiling. Something smooth brushed his cheek. "Yes James Potter. I'll go out with you."

She might have kissed him. He liked to think she kissed him.

He only remembered the exhilaration of the moment before he blacked out.

* * *

A week and a half passed slowly, and James was on the mend. His wounds were healing, and his strength and wit were returning. He had, however, been forced to miss the last Quidditch game of the year. After a shouting match with Madam Pomfrey, he had been forced to sulkily watch from the window of the hospital wing. Even though Gryffindor had won, and Lily, Remus, and Peter had forfeited going down to the match for watching it from the hospital wing with James (Sirius, who was on the team, felt he had more of an obligation to the Quidditch cup than his best friend), the fact that he had missed the last Quidditch match of his school years put a damper on James's spirits.

Voldermort's spell had left dark scars crisscrossing his face and chest, which Madam Pomfrey promised would lose their intensity with time. James found them revolting, while Sirius simply saw them as a sign of strength and a way to impress the girls of Hogwarts.

"I'm telling you, mate, they're battle scars! Nothing to hide! Girls will be fawning over them, you mark my words."

It was Saturday, the day before James was to be released from the hospital wing. Lily, Remus, Sirius, and Peter were sitting around his bed, sharing the sweets they had brought back from their trip to Hogsmeade earlier that morning.

Peter bit the end off a sugar quill and sucked it. "They're not that bad, James, honestly."

James ran his fingers along the longest mark across his face. "Don't lie, they're horrible!"

"I think Sirius is right, they're very heroic," Lily interjected.

James thought about that for a moment, then said, "Yeah, I think I've changed my mind. I rather like them."

Lily laughed. James grinned at her and winked. He had been telling her all week that if Madam Pomfrey hadn't been watching them like a hawk he would have been snogging her every opportunity he had. She had laughed, but James didn't think she understood: he wasn't kidding.

"Come on, Remus, it's the weekend! I know you've finished all your homework! How can you be studying?!" Sirius chucked a chocolate frog at the book Remus was reading, knocking it out of his hands.

Sighing, Remus bent down and retrieved the book. "I'm not studying for class. I'm looking for information on Horcruxes."

"And what the bloody hell is a Horcrux?" James asked.

Lily smacked him playfully on the knee. "Watch your mouth, there's a lady present."

Sirius let out a bark of laughter, and Peter sniggered.

"If I _knew_ what they were, I wouldn't be doing all this research," Remus explained patiently. "It was on the cover of that book I found in Voldermort's study."

The mood of the conversation suddenly shifted. They had all carefully avoided mentioning the attack since it had occurred.

"I thought the cover was written—" Peter began, but Remus interrupted.

"In Runes, I know. I couldn't remember all the symbols I saw; I was trying to translate it in my head that night, but I was so panicked it was hard. I'm not even sure if I translated the word 'Horcrux' right. I mean, I've never heard of them before!"

"And that's saying a lot," Sirius muttered to James under his breath.

Remus either didn't hear, or chose to ignore them. "I've looked in every book I could get my hands on about Dark Magic and defense against the Dark Arts, and I haven't found a single reference."

"It's got to be pretty Dark Magic if it's not in any of our books," Lily said. "Why don't you ask McGonagall about it?"

"I wouldn't," James warned. "If it is Dark Magic, do you really want McGonagall to think you're 'interested' in it?"

"Just explain where you saw it. She'll understand."

"I doubt it," Sirius muttered.

James sighed, leaning back. "Kind of scary, isn't it? That he's got something else to make him stronger."

"You mean, you think Voldermort's going to use these Horcrux things to make him stronger?" Sirius asked.

"Why else would he want them? He's obsessed with gaining power right now. And you can only recruit so many Death Eaters before you need something else. Something more." James stared out the window, his eyes betraying his mind to be hundreds of miles away.

They were silent for a moment, then James snapped out of his reverie.

"Toss us another frog, will you?"

* * *

James was looking forward to the last few weeks of his seventh year at Hogwarts, now that Lily had finally consented to go out with him.

But before he knew it, exams were here, and most of their dates consisted of quizzing each other on charms, magical fungi, and potions ingredients.

And as soon as exams were over, the last week flew by, and suddenly his trunk was packed, and he was staring around the Gryffindor common room for the last time. Somehow, he had never thought his Hogwarts years would truly end, and now he was staring at a future in the real world, a world that was growing crueler every day.

His last meal in the Great Hall, last walk across the grounds, last visit to Hagrid's, last ride on the Hogwarts express, and he was suddenly standing on Platform 9 and ¾, watching hundreds of students bidding each other farewell for the summer, knowing he would never come back. Not for school, and anything else wouldn't be the same.

"James!"

He turned. Lily was running towards him, having left her trunk guarded by a tall, spindly looking girl with long, brown hair and a scowl, who was yelling after her, "Hurry up, Lily, Mum and Dad are waiting in the car!"

Lily caught up with James. "Could I have a quick word?"

"Uh…sure. What's up?"

He could tell she was nervous about what she was about to say, and he was suddenly afraid that he was about to be dumped.

"James….I, uh…I don't want this to end."

"What?"

"I don't want…_us_...to end."

James's heart swelled suddenly. "You mean—"

"I'm sorry for how I treated you for seven years, and I'm sorry I missed out on so much…_happiness _with you. I don't want this to end with school, James. I want to keep seeing you."

James opened his mouth, struggling for words to express the sheer joy that was exploding inside him like a firecracker.

"Here," Lily thrust a piece of paper at him. "This is my telephone number—"

"Your what?"

"Telephone. It's a Muggle thing. Didn't you ever take Muggle Studies?"

James snorted. "Do you really need me to answer that?"

"Never mind. If you can't call me, that's okay. My address is on there too."

James grinned. "Writing letters: that's something I understand."

Lily unexpectedly threw her arms around his neck, and he returned her hug affectionately. "Write me every day."

"I promise," he whispered, his lips nearly pressed against her ear, breathing in the smell of her.

"LILY!"

"Coming Petunia!" Lily called over her shoulder. Then she turned back to James. "Every day?"

"Every day."

She leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth for a long, beautiful moment, then dropped her arms. She backed up slowly, her eyes reluctant to leave his, then she finally turned and ran back to Petunia, who looked astonished.

"Did you just _kiss_ him, Lily?"

"Never mind, Tuny, come on!"

It was not their first kiss. But somehow, this one was different. Somehow, this one left James lighter and happier than any before it.

Because this one was real, beyond Hogwarts.

This kiss meant that Lily Evans truly loved him.

_**Defiance one down. Moving on…**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Juneaua: Lauren gets a little credit…she wrote the first part. She just dumped the hard part on me:-)**_

_**Music: "Let it Be" by the Beatles…which was in my dream last night, ironically…**_

"Ah, Caradoc, my friend. I see you received my letter."

"Indeed I did, though I must admit, I was reluctant to come. I am not as young as I once was, you know, and it is not easy for me to travel."

"I did offer to pay _you_ a visit, rather than the other way around. You could have stayed at home."

"At home, eh? At home, where who knows what spies of the Dark Lord may be watching my every move?"

"Come now, Caradoc, the Order has searched your house very thoroughly, and we found no trace of a bug. But come, I have something pressing I need to discuss with you."

"Aye, I thought it would be pressing. That's why I came."

"Indeed. You understand, of course, that your skills as an alchemist are in high demand. Unfortunately, there are those who, were you to refuse to sell them your secrets, would resort to subterfuge or force to obtain them."

"If you dragged me all the way over here just to tell me that, Albus, then I think I shall have to hex you."

"You know perfectly well that I have more to say than that. Recently I have obtained the intelligence that Lord Voldemort—"

"DON'T say his name, Albus!"

"—that _Lord Voldemort_ has run across the delightful tidbit of information that you do indeed know very much about alchemy. Unfortunately, he is not even the type to offer to purchase it first; he will simply demand it, and if you refuse, he will break into your mind, find the information he wants, and then there will be a flash of green light, and that will be the end of you and of any hope we have of defeating him."

"Are you telling me that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named knows I'm an alchemist?"

"A grave matter indeed. I do not, however, believe that he has yet located you, which means that we still have time. If you have no objections, as soon as possible we will have a Fidelius Charm placed on your house and a constant guard of Order members—"

"A Fidelius Charm! Merlin, Albus, you can't possibly expect me to consent to that!"

"I see no reason why not. It would keep you and your secrets safe."

"But—but then no one would be able to find me!"

"Indeed, I rather thought that was the _point_ of the Fidelius Charm. "

"Of course it is, you blockheaded numbskull, but even the people I _want_ to find me won't be able to!"

"A lamentable side effect, I agree, but surely it is nothing where your safety is concerned."

"I'll not have it, Dumbledore, and you won't change my mind. A guard is one thing, but a Fideli—"

"You will consent, then, to my stationing Order members around your house and neighborhood?"

"Yes, yes, but not to your confounded Fidelius Charm—and don't you _sigh_ at me like that, Dumbledore, as though you know what's best for me. I can make my own decisions. A Fidelius Charm, my foot! I'd never see anyone, and how would I be able to teach Lily, eh?"

"Your Secret Keeper could tell her where to find you, Caradoc, as you know full well. You and I both trust Lily Evans; she would have full access to your house, and she could carry on her apprenticeship quite unhindered."

"I've already said, Dumbledore, I won't have it. You won't convince me, and that's final."

"Well, then, I am resigned. May I ask if you—"

"I don't want to hear any more of your hair-brained schemes, Dumbledore!"

"I was simply going to ask I you would like some tea, my dear fellow. I find that a cup of Earl Grey with a shot of butterbeer is just the thing for a rainy morning."

* * *

"C'mon, Remus, I want to show you something!"

Remus looked suspiciously at Sirius, who was standing pleadingly in the doorway to his friend's apartment. "Is it something that'll bite my hand off if I get within a ten-foot radius of it?"

"Nah, of course not. Moony, please?"

"Where exactly is it, pray tell?"

"It's out in the… what do the Muggles call it? The parking lot, that's it."

Remus' eyebrows shot up disbelievingly. "You got a _car?_"

"Yeah! Well—no, not exactly, but… please, Remus?"

"Have you show James yet?"

"No, we're gonna go over to his place and surprise him. Come on, Moony, where's your sense of adventure?"

"Buried in the backyard," Remus said dryly, "where I put it after you dragged me and James and Peter off to see that minotaur."

"Aw, c'mon, Moony, it's not like that! Please?"

So it was that Remus found himself standing in the parking lot of his second-rate apartment complex, gazing in half-horrified, half-excited fascination at a Muggle Motor bike. "You actually got it," he muttered, running a hand along the smooth, black leather of the bike's seat.

Sirius had been ogling over the motorcycle for months. He had hoarded magazines that had pictures of it, stopped to gaze whenever they passed a dealership, and talked about nothing else all summer. However, Remus had thought that this obsessive phase would pass in time; he had never dreamed that Sirius would actually go through with his wild scheme.

Sirius had mounted excitedly. "C'mon, Remus, get on the back!" he urged impatiently. "We'll go show James!"

"Erm… I'll Apparate, thanks," Remus said decisively, starting to walk away.

"No you won't," Sirius declared. He grabbed Remus by the collar as he left, whirled him around, and yanked him onto the seat behind him. Before Remus could voice his indignation, a rush of air rammed itself down his throat; the bike had leapt forward with a deafening roar. It was all he could do to keep from falling off.

They were nearly to the main road when something Remus would never forget happened: the front wheel of the motorcycle began to lift off the ground, and within ten seconds, Remus found himself soaring above the rooftops.

"ARE YOU INSANE?" he roared over the howl of the wind. "YOU'LL GET US BOTH KILLED, YOU WILL—"

As if to confirm this accusation, Sirius let out an exhilarated whoop and yanked up on the handlebars. Remus felt his stomach drop sickeningly; the bike performed a sharp loop and soared on into the westering sun.

When the wheels finally hit the ground and the motorcycle skidded to a stop, Remus stumbled off and collapsed facedown onto the grass, his head spinning wildly. "Never," he gasped, gulping for air, "never again." He rolled over to face Sirius, who was standing impatiently above him. "You could be arrested for that," he informed him, making no move to stand up. "You'll have the entire Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office out for your blood."

Sirius let out his usual bark of laughter. "What, you mean Perkins and Weasley? They have enough on their plate with the black market of biting doorknobs thriving like it is. They won't bother themselves with my bike. C'mon, let's go get James and bring him down so we can show him."

"Next time you can take Peter on that thing," Remus said fervently as he hauled himself off of the cool grass. "Why you didn't take him _this_ time…"

"Couldn't, could I?" Sirius said, bounding up the stairs towards James' third-floor apartment. "He's off in Poland on a job for the Department of Interfactual Musical Coronation or whatever it is."

"The Department of International Magical Cooperation," Remus corrected through gritted teeth.

"Lighten up, Remus," Sirius admonished as he mounted the second and final set of stairs.

"I am light," Remus grumbled darkly, "if by 'light' you mean 'pale.' Aside from that amusing little ride we took just now, it's three days until full moon."

Sirius didn't answer; they had reached the door of James' apartment. Without bothering to knock, Sirius strode into the front room and shouted, "Oi, Prongs!"

"I'm in here," came a subdued answer from the bedroom. Remus, worried at the tone of his friend's voice, followed Sirius into the bedroom.

James was sitting on the end of his bed with a very strange expression on his face. Sirius, completely oblivious to whatever was wrong with their friend, bounded in and said excitedly, "Hey, James, guess what? I want to show you something, c'mon!"

Remus pushed him aside and sat down beside James, looking concernedly at him. "What's wrong?"

James ran a distracted hand through his hair. "I'm just… I dunno. Nothing."

Sirius, who seemed to have realized that something was up, sat on his best friend's other side. "I tell you, mate, you've never been a bad liar before, but that? That was just… abysmal. Tell us what's wrong or we'll have to force it out of you."

"There's nothing _wrong,_" James said, standing abruptly and moving to face the window, which looked out over the bluish hue of the western sky. "Really, I'm… fine."

That was when Remus noticed what he held in his hand. It was a small, velvet-covered box with a rounded top, and he kept nervously flipping it open and shut again. It caught the light of sunset when he opened it, and whatever was inside flashed momentarily before he snapped it shut once more. With a sudden rush of understanding, Remus pushed himself off the bed, crossed to where James stood at the window, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Are you going to do it tonight?" he asked softly.

"Do what?" Sirius asked, looking from one to the other. _Tactless as usual_, Remus thought exasperatedly.

James swallowed hard, and he turned slowly to face his best friend. "I'm going to ask Lily to marry me."

Sirius, for the first time Remus could remember, seemed to be at a loss for words. James, who looked stricken at the sound of his own confession, started pacing furiously back and forth across his bedroom. He looked more agitated than Remus had ever seen him; he kept pushing his hand through his hair and flipping the ring box open and closed.

There was a long silence before James finally spoke. "What if she says no?" he asked in a hoarse whisper. Remus knew that only real, paralyzing fear of this possibility could force him to ask that question.

"James," he said slowly, trying to find the right words, "she's dated you for a year and a half, ever since you left Hogwarts. If she hated you, she'd never have consented to go out with you in the first place."

"She _did_ hate me," he said in a dismayed voice. "She hated me for years. What if it never changed?"

"Don't be thick, mate," said Sirius, who had evidently found his voice. "Of course it changed. She loves you. It only took a month after you started dating to make _that_ obvious."

"But maybe she's not ready! Maybe she'll think I'm being too forward, and she'll say no because I seem… overeager and insensitive ."

"James," Sirius said exasperatedly. "You've been dating for nearly _two years._ If anything, she'll curse you up and down for waiting so long."

It was supposed to be a joke, but James' face turned ashen. "You think so?" he asked in a mortified whisper.

"No," Sirius said firmly. "I think she'll say yes."

"You do?"

"Of course," Remus interjected before Sirius could make another ill-timed joke. "James, I know you're nervous, but I don't think she'll refuse you."

Silence fell for a long, agonizing minute. Finally, James said, "I asked her father for permission."

He offered no more, and after a moment, Sirius prompted, "What did he say?"

"He said he'd be proud to call me a son."

"See?" Remus said. "You've even got her _father_ to like you. That doesn't happen very often; you've got it perfect. All you have to do is ask Lily."

There was another stretch of silence before Sirius said quietly, "It's getting late, James."

"I know."

There was a finality and decisiveness in his tone that told Remus he had finally steeled himself to carry through with what he had planned to do. Taking a few long, deep breaths, he looked at his friends.

"Thank you," he whispered, tucking the ring box into his pocket. "I guess I'll see you later?"

They nodded solemnly. With one final, half-terrified, half-determined breath, he Disapparated.

James knew his labored breathing was not a result of the momentary sensation of suffocation that Apparition caused. He found himself standing in front of an ancient apartment building in a small town just south of Oxford. In spite of its old, withered appearance, gnarly trees, clumpy grass, and weathered paint, it held a sort of charm, especially over Lily. She had chosen it mostly for this reason, and it was in close proximity to her mentor, Caradoc Dearborn, under whom she was studying alchemy.

Ages too soon, he found himself facing her apartment door.

A rush of confused thoughts stayed his hand as he raised it to knock. _What if she doesn't really love me? What if she wants to wait? What if there's another man in her life? What if we get married and _then_ she decides she doesn't love me? What if she gets nervous and says no because she's afraid? What if I'm completely, horribly, terribly wrong?_

He was halfway down the stairs, ready to Apparate right back to his apartment, when Sirius' words reverberated in his mind. _"Of course it changed. She loves you."_

Drawing a deep breath, he turned around, faced her door, and knocked softly. He waited anxiously, half of him hoping that she wasn't home, until the doorknob turned and he found himself face to face with Lily Evans.

"Oh, James!" Her hands flew to her hair, hastily pulling her damp red curls back into a ponytail. "I'm a sight! I didn't know you were coming! Did you get off training early?"

"I… er, no. I took the evening off."

"Why?" She was still trying to make her appearance more presentable, but James thought she looked as lovely as he had ever seen her.

"I wanted to spend it with you."

She stopped fussing for a moment, then smiled at him. "Come in. You've seen me in a worse state than this."

He laughed nervously, hoping his voice wouldn't shake as bad as his hands were when he tried to speak.

She led him into the small studio apartment. There was a coffee cup on the counter of the small kitchenette, which then opened into a front room with two arm chairs and a couch that folded out into her bed. James stuck his hands in his pockets, too edgy to sit.

Lily flicked her wand at the cupboard, and a mug came flying forth, into which a kettle poured tea, which she handed to James. "I just got home a bit ago. I jumped in the shower and I was too tired to dry my hair. I didn't think anyone was coming over, so the place is a bit of a wreck. I'm a bit of a wreck too."

"You look beautiful," James croaked, trying to wet his dry lips.

Lily laughed cheerfully, apparently unaware of the tension emanating from her boyfriend.

James took a deep breath, then plunged forward recklessly. "Can we talk?"

"Sure," Lily seated herself on the edge of the table, her slender fingers (_Ringless fingers, _James noticed with an unpleasant jolt of apprehension) wrapped around her tea cup. "What's up?"

"Uh…" It had suddenly occurred to James that the front room of her apartment was possibly not the most romantic place to propose. "Fancy a walk?"

Lily cocked an eyebrow suspiciously. "I thought you wanted to talk."

"Well…" _Come on Prongs! Pull yourself together! _James reprimanded himself sharply. "We can walk…and talk, you know?"

Lily set her mug down. "I just made tea."

"Oh," James could feel himself sweating. "If you don't want to go, we could just—"

Lily laughed. "James, I was just kidding."

"Oh…yeah…shall we walk, then?"

They left Lily's apartment behind and took to the streets of Oxford, walking hand in hand, talking about nothing in particular. Or rather, Lily talked. James occassionaly nodded or made noises of interest, trying not to concentrate on the ring in his pocket, which was getting heavier with every step.

They made their way to a public park full of winding paths lined with hedges, flowerbeds, and thick foliage, passing joggers and dog walkers and families going in the opposite direction. Lily, who had been there many times and knew her way around, led James to a small trickling fountain with a small pathway lined by rose bushes circling it. Lily seated herself delicately on the edge of the fountain, running her fingers through the clear water, sparkling with the coins bearing the wishes of the children who had thrown them there. James sat beside her, grappling with himself to ask her.

As soon as he had plucked his courage up and resolved to ask her, she spoke and his nerve vanished. "Do you see that house?" Lily pointed over the hedges and throught he tress to a pale grey, unremarkable townhouse squashed along a narrow street.

"Yeah," James jerked his hand out of his pocket. It had uncouciously fastened around the ring box. He could tell Lily had something she desperately wanted to say, but it was as reluctant to slip out as James' proposal.

"Caradoc lives there. Caradoc Dearborn, my alchemy teacher. Your Order's setting a guard around him," she remarked, trying to sound nonchalant and failing. "They think he's in danger."

"In danger?" James' thought briefly slipped from the ring.

"And I suppose it makes sense," Lily sighed, playing absent mindedly with the hem of her grey turtleneck. "He's one of about two alchemists in the whole world who truly know the secrets of the Sorcerer's Stone, so if You-Know-Who wants one made, he'll go after Caradoc."

A flash of lightning illuminated the sky for an instant. James glanced up. He hadn't noticed the storm clouds gathering above their heads. _Don't you dare rain on my proposal, _James thought threateningly, but the clouds simply laughed, as a cackle of thunder boomed in the distance.

"Lily," James took her hand soothingly and rubbed the back of it with his thumb. "Nothing will happen to him. The Order's good. They'll protect him."

"The Order," Lily repeated, and there was the barest trace of derision in her voice. "You put so much faith in your Order, James, but they fail more than not! Look at everyone who's died—Dorcas Meadowes, Benjy Fenwick, Edgar Bones, Marlene McKinnon… Gideon Prewett has been missing for months now; there's no hope he's still alive."

"I haven't given up hope," James said quietly, wishing she had wanted to talk about something else. This wasn't going at all how he had planned.

"Oh, James," she whispered, and he was dismayed to see that she was nearly crying. "Don't you see? I'm an alchemist, too, or at least, I will be soon. If You-Know-Who's trying to get to Caradoc, how long do you think it'll be before he tries to get to me? It doesn't exactly help that I'm Muggle-born, either And you, James, you're going to be a Healer. If You-Know-Who took out all the Healers, it would cripple his opponents because no one would be able to get better once they were hurt, so you're in danger too. And Sirius only has a year of auror training left, so it's obvious why he's in danger, and Peter's got a job with the Ministry, which is under fire… I'd say that Remus is the only one who's not in danger because no one'll hire him, except that his being a werewolf makes him a prime target for You-Know-Who. Everyone you and I care about could die any moment!"

"Lily," he soothed, half-resolved not to carry through with his plans tonight, "_everyone_ is in danger, not just us. That's why we're in the Order—"

"That's why _you're_ in the Order," she corrected vehemently. "I'm in it because you're in it."

"Fine," James said. Rain was beginning to fall now, tumbling downward in plump, lethargic drops. "That's why _I'm_ in the Order; no one is safe until Voldermort is gone, and someone has to fight against him or he'll conquer unhindered."

Lily wrapped her arms around herself and turned away from James. "I know," she whispered, not looking at him, "but I'm… I'm so scared. Like I could lose everything at any moment."

The rain was falling harder now, sending ripples through the pond and beginning to dampen James' hair along with his spirits. _Could things be going any worse? _

Lily looked up, noticing the dreary weather seemingly noticing it for the first time. She stood up, trying to wipe her eyes without James noticing. "We should get going before it starts raining any harder."

A little voice that sounded suspiciously like Remus' was screaming inside James' brain. _It's now or never! Just do it!_

She was standing up. He was sitting down, practically on his knees already. Before he knew what he was doing, before he remembered telling his arm to move, he grabbed her hand, halting her progress. She turned to look down at him. "James, what are you—"

He sank down from the rim of the fountain onto one knee, and Lily suddenly seemed to realize what he was doing, for her free hand flew to her mouth.

"Lily, I've never been one for timing, and I couldn't have picked a worse one. And I've never been much for words…but I'll try my hardest to tell you how much I love you. I've known it for a long time. Ever since I met you, I loved you," his voice was catching, not from nerves, but from the sheer magnitude of emotion welling inside of him. "But suddenly, I realized that it was more than that, and I couldn't live without you. And the thought of losing you is unbearable," James was groping in his pocket. They were both nearly soaked through, but neither noticed or cared. His fingers fastened around the velvet ring box and he withdrew it with trembling fingers. "I love you so much, Lily. I can't even being to try to put into words how much I love you. So what I'm trying to say," he was shaking. She might have been crying. Perhaps it was just the rain on her cheeks.

"What I'm trying to say is…Lily Evans, will you marry me?"


	7. Chapter 7

It's me, Lauren. Sorry it took so long to update. I hit a bout of writer's block and then I forgot that I was supposed to write this chapter and then school started and then I waited for Juneaua to edit it for about a month… you get the point. 

Anyway, the previous chapter was the last one with anything from Juneaua, at least for a while. She's ridiculously busy, or so she tells me, and after she finishes her own Eragon story, she's not doing anything fanfiction-wise until she has her chaotic homework situation back under control. She'll still edit (most of the time) and she might write here and there, but until further notice, everything you read is mine.

Hmm… anything else? I know Juneaua always tells you what music she's listening to, but if I listen to music while I'm trying to write, I end up typing the lyrics by accident, so you get things like, "He blinked disbelievingly. 'You mean that I'll live forever with Satan himself by my side, and I'll show the world that tonight and forever the name to remember is the name Edward Hyde!" (I've got _Jekyll and Hyde_ stuck in my head today). Not so good when you're supposed to be doing a Marauders fanfic…

The rain was pouring hard, drenching the world in torrents of water. Sheets of it slid down the roofs of the houses, gushing from the drainpipes into the gutters, where it joined the flood already rushing down the gentle slope of the street. Muddy shoes splashed in ever-widening puddles, fighting their way home through the driving wind and hammering rain.

There was only one pair of feet that did not run for shelter, only one that did not bother trying to skirt the puddles and gutters. The owner of the feet did not hunch his shoulders against the pounding elements, but rather turned his face up to greet them as they rushed from the sky. The torrential rain and chilling wind seemed to have no effect on him, for his countenance bore a half-disbelieving, half-jubilant expression, with no small amount of relief evident as well. Had passersby glanced at him instead of bowing their heads against the wind, they might have thought him quite mad; he seemed completely, blissfully oblivious to the downpour around him. Nothing, nothing in the world, could dampen his spirits tonight.

Because Lily had said yes, and James Potter felt as though he could take on the universe and come off victorious.

He felt lightheaded as he ascended the steps to his apartment. The last half hour had passed by in a blurred, idyllic daze, and the only thing that seemed of the remotest importance was the thought: _She loves me, and she's going to marry me._

The dismal looks on his best friends' faces didn't even register to him as he turned the doorknob and entered his apartment. They were sitting across from each other at the table, with two cups of coffee and a folded piece of parchment between them. They both looked up as James came in.

A brief nod answered the unspoken question in their eyes. Remus' tired face broke into a smile, and he said sincerely, "Congratulations, Prongs."

Sirius's response was to clap his friend in a bear hug, a gesture that spoke stronger than any words he could have uttered. When they pulled away, leaving Sirius nearly as wet as James was, the latter sank into a chair and closed his eyes happily. "I have all I could ever want," he said hoarsely.

Remus and Sirius exchanged a look, which James didn't catch because his eyes were shut. _It can wait, _Sirius mouthed, and Remus nodded, glancing with a sigh at the parchment that lay on the table.

Sirius busied himself getting a cup of coffee for his friend, and Remus asked, "Care to tell us about it?"

James settled more comfortably into his chair, still keeping his eyes closed as though attempting to preserve the memory forever. He started haltingly, blushing as he recalled his blunders and grinning at the good parts, and as he continued his voice got stronger and steadier. Sirius and Remus made an excellent audience, laughing and smiling and waiting with baited breath at exactly the right parts.

"I didn't let myself think. I was on my knees before I knew what I was doing, and the words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I—I was terrified," he said quietly. "I was scared that I'd done it all wrong, that she was going to say no, and how could I ever bear that?" He moaned softly. "It would have been terrible, and it would have driven me over the edge. And there was only a second or two between when I finished and when she answered, but it felt like an eternity, and the whole time I grew more and more petrified until I was absolutely positive that she hated me and would never want to see me again."

Sirius choked back a laugh; his friend's face was completely serious.

"And then—finally—she…" James's voice broke. "I can't remember the exact words, but she said something that definitely meant yes." He knew that her answer should be one of the memories he cherished forever, but he couldn't remember exactly how she had put it; it was too much of a pleasant blur to discern any particular point, so he satisfied himself with knowing that she _had_ said yes.

What he didn't tell his friends was the conversation they'd had on the way back to her apartment.

"James," she said softly, entwining her hands in his, her mouth very close to his ear, "can we get married soon?"

"Of course we can," he answered, pushing an overhanging branch out of the way for her and accidentally showering himself with the rainwater that had pooled in the leaves. "We can be married tomorrow if you want, I'll arrange it all."

She laughed, and he felt something within him burst with delight at the sound. "Not _that_ soon, but some people take six months to plan their wedding, and I don't want to wait that long."

"Why not?" he inquired, only half of his mind engaged in the conversation. The other half was busy coping with the elation the last few minutes had brought him.

When she hesitated, he looked down at her with a concerned expression on his face. "What is it, love?" he asked quietly.

Her hand tightened around his. "What if something happens?" she asked in a whisper that he barely caught. "What if one of us…. Oh, James, I'm going to be blunt. What if one of us died before we got married because we'd put it off?"

"Died?" James repeated disbelievingly. "Why would we die?"

She shot him a glance that conveyed a sort of loving exasperation, which broke into a giggle as he bent down and scooped her into his arms, carrying her across a flooded stretch of sidewalk. "How could I die when I'm so incandescently happy? Nothing will stop me now! I shall live forever and ever!"

"Put me down," she laughed, slapping playfully at his hands. "It's useless, I'm soaked through anyway."

He obligingly set her gently on her feet in the middle of the puddle, and the next second he found her arms around his neck and her lips against his, heedless of anyone on the street who might be watching. "Make me a promise," she murmured.

"Anything," he breathed. "I will walk the world over to get you a blade of grass that you want."

"Promise me we'll be married soon."

"How about tomorrow?"

She smiled and kissed him again. "Not that soon. Within a month."

He looked surprised and a bit disappointed. "That long?"

Her brilliantly green eyes sparkled mischievously. "Your mum would be scandalized if she didn't even get a chance to send out wedding invitations."

That was why, when Remus asked when the big day was going to be, James responded, "A month from today."

"Merlin, that's soon," Sirius said, fiddling absent-mindedly with the piece of parchment on the table. "Where're you going to have it?"

James shrugged; he hadn't gotten that far yet. His mind couldn't get past the wonderful thought that Lily was actually going to marry him. He glanced at Remus, who didn't look nearly as happy as James thought he should. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," Remus answered, sitting up a bit straighter. His tone was convincing, but a furtive look at the parchment in Sirius's hand betrayed him. James grabbed it before Sirius could snatch it away and looked at it curiously.

One side of it said _J. Potter, Apt. 47, 19 Demosthenes Dr.,_ and the reverse side was scrawled with a hasty note that was blurred in some places, as though tears had fallen on it while it was being written, but before he could read it, Sirius yanked it back.

"Don't read it," he said imploringly. "It can wait; don't let it ruin tonight of all nights."

"It's _mine,_" James said, trying to tug it back, and he added coolly, "and I'll thank you not to read my mail."

Remus flushed guiltily, but Sirius was unrepentant, refusing to relinquish his grip on the paper. "You've always said to help ourselves to whatever was yours, and besides, it wasn't sealed or anything, and I accidentally read the first sentence and couldn't help reading the rest. Anyway, I bet there's a similar one waiting for me and Remus at our apartments."

James's heart sank. "What does it say?" he asked nervously, no longer sure he wanted to know. If there was one for each of them, then it was from the Order, and the Order brought worse and worse news every day.

Remus and Sirius looked at each other, and the latter heaved a sigh. "It's the Hansens," he said slowly.

"What about them?" James prompted.

"They've… James, they're dead."

James blinked disbelievingly. "All of them?" he asked softly.

Sirius nodded grimly.

"But… the—the kids?"

Remus let out a bitter, humorless laugh that sounded quite chilling coming from him. "You think that Voldemort would spare them, just because they're kids? I bet he relished it." He stood abruptly and faced the window, but James could still see his reflection in the glass; he was crying.

"But—" James's mind kept trying to come up with excuses, reasons they couldn't be dead. "But they're purebloods!"

"Yeah," Sirius snorted, "and the biggest family of blood-traitors I've ever seen, next to Weasley and his brood."

"Runs in the family, I guess," Remus muttered. "Amy Hansen was Arthur Weasley's sister."

Remus had developed a very brotherly love for the three Hansen children because their father had been the only one to offer him a job since they had left Hogwarts, and he had formed a special bond with the family that welcomed him in spite of his lycanthropy. James could see the sorrow and pain etched into his face. _Just what he needs, _he thought dully. _More grief._

The elation that had filled him for the last hour seemed to have deflated quite a bit, but nothing could quench his spirits entirely, not tonight. The murder of the Hansen family was a horrendous tragedy, but he wasn't going to let it dishearten him. He laid a consoling hand on Remus' shoulder, listening to the rain pattering against the window, and asked softly, "You guys want to stay here tonight? It's lonely when we're all in our own places."

Remus tried to decline, but James could see the grateful look in his eyes when he was pressed to accept, and Sirius answered by pointing his wand at the fireplace to start a merrily crackling blaze, summoning a sleeping bag out of thin air, and settling himself down on it.

"Prongs?" came a whisper from Sirius's direction at around one in the morning.

"Mmm?" James muttered, rolling over sleepily.

"D'you think Moony will be alright?"

James sat up and looked at the face between him and Sirius, and even though he couldn't see it for the darkness, he could imagine it: pale, worn, and sound asleep. He was barely nineteen, but he could have passed for thirty. James let out a long, tired breath. "I wish I could say."

"I'm afraid he'll crack under everything he has to make it through."

"Remus is made of stronger stuff than anyone gives him credit for," James said firmly, lying back down. "He'll make it, and we'll do what we can to help him through it."

Hidden by the darkness, eternally grateful for his friends, Remus smiled.


	8. Chapter 8

Hey, it's me, Lauren, again. Juneaua's actually going to write the next chapter, so be prepared for something stellar (stellar is my new favorite word). She edited this one, too, so it'll probably have fewer mistakes than the last one. Anywho, sorry for the delay. School, you know… In fact, I really should be doing my math homework or finishing my Spanish packet, but… this, quite frankly, is far more enjoyable. Big surprise, I know. 

Chapter 8

_The purposes of the Moonstone Potion are twofold: firstly, it serves to reduce the symptoms of a wide variety of irreversible hexes, and secondly, it gives the drinker a temporary—_

There was a sharp rap on the window. James blinked distractedly and glanced up from the paper on the correlation between spells and potions that he was supposed to be familiarizing himself with to see a large, regal-looking owl staring imperiously down at him from the sill. With a sigh that very clearly said that he did not want to get up from where he was seated, he crossed to the window, pushed it open with a grumble of dissatisfaction as the cold night air swept across his face, and waited impatiently while the owl stepped inside and offered him its leg. The envelope it bore was small, containing a note whose brevity made it very insistent.

_Please come to my office as soon as you receive this message._

Even if James had not recognized the loopy handwriting, the cryptic anonymity of the words screamed _Albus Dumbledore. _He let out a groan—why tonight of all nights? He had put off reading this paper for a week now, too absorbed with Lily to pay it any heed, and tomorrow he was scheduled for a practical application examination with an honorary St. Mungo's healer. If he did not pass it, he would be moved back nearly a month in his training. He sat down dejectedly, considering simply ignoring the message until tomorrow. The owl, however, seeming to read his mind, shot him a look so reminiscent of his mother that he let out a resigned sigh and went to find his cloak.

Minutes later found him standing outside the gates to the majestic Hogwarts castle. The stars twinkled brightly overhead, and James experienced a strange sense of levity that he only ever felt under two other circumstances: when he was truly at peace or when he was with Lily. Even the solemn faces of the two aurors that stood outside the gate could not quell the lightheartedness that had come upon him. He showed them the note that Dumbledore had sent, which they checked for forgery with some sort of Anti-concealment charm, and then they let him through. He found his way through the familiar hallways—empty this late at night, with all the students in bed—to the stone gargoyle that stood guard at the entrance to the Headmasters' office, where he had been many times for varying degrees of troublemaking. To his utter amazement, he felt tears welling up in his throat; he had not realized until now how much he missed this castle.

"Fizzing Whizbee," he said automatically. Only when it remained unmoving did it occur to him that the password had changed since his seventh year.

"Er… Droobles' Best Blowing Gum. Acid pops. Cockroach clusters… ugh, no, not even Dumbledore would like those… Bertie Bott's Every-Flavor Beans. How 'bout… Chocolate Frogs?"

The stone gargoyle came to life and sprang aside. "Excellent," James breathed, stepping onto the well-worn stone staircase and ascending to the top. He lifted the heavy brass knocker and rapped it three times against the door.

"Please come in," said a deep voice that James recognized very well. The door swung open of its own accord, allowing him to enter the circular office.

To James's surprise, Sirius was seated in one of the chairs across from the desk. His best friend grinned up at him and shrugged at his questioning look.

Dumbledore was seated exactly where he was always seated: behind his desk. His long, slender fingers were steepled beneath his chin, and those piercing blue eyes twinkled at him from beneath the usual half-moon spectacles. He was exactly the same as he had been when James had been in school: they could be here to deal with another prank that he had pulled. _They say that the only thing constant is change,_ he thought with the shadow of a smile, _but they're wrong. _

James sat in the chair beside Sirius and looked up expectantly at Dumbledore, who was silent for a few moments before speaking. When he did, his voice was grave and his face heavy.

"Half an hour ago," he said slowly, "Lord Voldemort dealt us a very heavy blow."

Sirius and James exchanged a nervous glance.

"He located and acquired something that contains all he could possibly want to know concerning the making of a Sorcerer's Stone—I assume, as one of you is training to be an auror and the other a healer, you both know what that is—killed its owner, and disappeared."

James felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. "The—the Sorcerer's stone?" repeated hoarsely.

"Allow me to start from the beginning," Dumbledore said, nodding solemnly. "I believe you are both acquainted with Caradoc Dearborn?"

James nodded. "Lily's teacher."

"Indeed." He paused, surveying the pair over the tips of his fingers. "He was killed an hour ago in an attack on his house." James sucked in a sharp breath, and Sirius' fists clenched in his lap. "Voldemort and a handful of his supporters slipped past the guard of Order members and attacked him. They tried to force his knowledge from his mind, but he is far too good an Occlumens to allow anyone to penetrate it. I believe they tried torture, which also failed, so in the end, they simply killed him and took his journal."

"Let me guess…" Sirius moaned.

"Which," Dumbledore said, nodding his head gravely, "contains everything that Caradoc knew about the alchemy and magic involved in making a sorcerer's stone.

James groaned, and Sirius closed his eyes and let out a long breath. "So basically… we've just lost any hope of defeating him."

Dumbledore held up a finger. "Not quite, Sirius. You see, Caradoc always used a very complex code for everything he wrote precisely in case of a situation like this. That journal, aside from being magically sealed with every charm he knew—which was a considerably large number—is written in a practically unbreakable cipher invented by him, and thus unknown to anyone else. Voldemort, however, has never been daunted by the impossible, so he _will_ find a way to read it: therefore, the question lies in how long it will take him. You can rest assured that he will begin immediately, and I doubt it will take him longer than a week to crack."

When he did not continue, James prompted, "What did you want to see us for, then?"

"We need to get that journal back."

Sirius sat up straight, a new light suddenly flaring in his eyes. "You want us to find it."

"Yes indeed. The two of you fulfill several very vital requirements: you have been to Lord Voldemort's headquarters before, as I'm sure you remember better than I. You are both young enough to be in peak physical condition. And your chosen professions—one an auror, the other a healer—can only help you. So, I have a question for the two of you: will you do this?"

Sirius was nodding before the question was out of Dumbledore's mouth, but James hesitated. When the headmaster turned to him for a confirmation, he could only stammer, "I—I need… I…"

Two weeks ago, he would have jumped at the chance. But now he knew Lily's real feelings. She was terrified that one of them would die before their wedding day, still two weeks away, and James was determined not to put himself in harm's way if only for that reason. He could not bring himself to hurt the woman he loved.

"I—I don't think I can," he muttered finally.

Sirius gazed at him in bewildered amazement, but Dumbledore didn't even blink, as though he had been expecting it (_which_, James thought, _knowing Dumbledore, he probably had_).

"James Potter," he said softly, gazing at him over his spectacles, "I've thought long and hard—as long, at least, as an hour's time will permit—about whom I should send to retrieve the journal. I know why you hesitate, and were it not so imperative that we get it, I would not ask you to risk your life. But think about this: no one in the Order can work together as flawlessly as you and Sirius because you know each other so well. You are two of the only ones that I believe have a chance of retrieving Caradoc's journal. If we fail to get it back, you will live until your marriage, but there will not be much of a world to live in. I would never try to force you to do anything, James, and even if I tried, I do not believe I could. I simply ask that you to think about it before you reject it."

James glanced at Sirius, who was still looking utterly bemused, and then back at Dumbledore. He let out a long breath. "I'll do it."

* * *

"Lily?"

James stood outside the door of her apartment. There were sounds of someone moving around inside, and then her voice came, muffled through the door. "James?"

James was shocked: it was obvious despite the barrier between them that she was crying. He debated asking her what was wrong, but he had promised Sirius he would be gone no more than five minutes. He swallowed hard. "Lily, I have something to tell you."

There was a sob from inside. "It's bad news, isn't it?"

"Will you open the door?" he asked gently.

"Tell me first."

He tried the knob; it was locked. "Lily," he pleaded, "I want to talk to you."

"Tell me what it is you came to tell me, then I'll decide whether I'm going to let you in."

James glanced around as though desperate for someone to help him reason with her. When no one appeared, he let out a long breath and leaned his back against the door. "I love you," he whispered, and then, so she could hear, he said it louder: "I love you, Lily." He heard her let out a heart-wrenching sob, and it suddenly hit him; she was crying because Caradoc Dearborn—her teacher, her mentor, and her friend—had been murdered. There was no other explanation. "Oh, Lily," he said, shaking his head miserably, "I'm—I'm so, so sorry. I didn't realize that Caradoc—I mean...I—I've been insensitive… what can I say?"

"You can say that you're not going to do what you came here to tell me you're going to do."

"How do you—"

"How do I know?" Her derisive laugh bordered on hysteria. "It's obvious, isn't it? Caradoc dies; it must have been for his alchemy secrets. You-Know-Who got his alchemy secrets, and someone has to go get them from him. Then you show up at my door and say that you have to 'tell me something.' I'm not an idiot, James. I can put two and two together."

James sank to the ground, leaning his head back in despair. "Lily, look, I promised Dumbledore—"

"You promised _me!_" she sobbed. "You promised that you loved me!"

"I do, of course I do—"

"Then don't," she choked, letting out a strangled sob, "don't hurt me. Please, James, don't hurt me."

"That's the last thing I want to do, Lily. I don't want to hurt you."

"What if you were injured? What if you _died?_"

"I'm not going to die, Lily, I promise, open the door—"

"_You can't promise that!_" she screamed. "_Don't you dare try to promise me that!"_

Utterly bewildered, James said weakly, "Don't promise you that?"

"There's no way to guarantee you won't be killed, James," she spat, "so don't try to pretend there is. The best you can do is to stay out of harm's way, and here you go, gallivanting right across You-Know-Who's path."

"Lily, someone has to—"

"Then let it be someone _else_!" she sobbed, and James, feeling his heart throb painfully, could picture her on the other side of the door, knees pulled up to her chest, red curls plastered to her face, beautiful green eyes shining with tears.

"Lily," he said, and his voice broke. "Lily, please believe me, I don't want to hurt you. I promise, I swear with every fiber of my being, we will both live until our wedding day."

Her words were barely audible. "Then don't do this. Please, James. Don't do this."

There was a cracking sound, and Sirius appeared out of thin air. Displaying an unusual amount of shrewdness in his assessment of the situation, he swallowed. "Not taking it well, is she?" he said softly.

"Who's out there?" Lily demanded.

"Unlock the door and you'll see," Sirius said loudly.

"Go away, Sirius," she snapped.

Sirius made a noise in imitation of an angry cat and turned his back on the door. "We've gotta go, James."

"Just… just give me another minute." He stood up and pressed his forehead against the door, as though trying to reach through it with his mind—with his heart. "Lily, love, please understand me—I love you. I love you to the ends of the universe and beyond. I am not fighting for the world, Lily; I am fighting for _you._ I am fighting so that we can be live without terrorizing fear hanging over us every second of our lives, so that we can bring children into a world that will be safe for them to live in, so that we can raise a family in peace. If I don't go, how will I ever be able to face my own children when they have nothing but a bleak future to look forward to because I didn't fight to win a better one for them?"

"James…" she sobbed.

Sirius was tugging on his sleeve. "We need to go, mate," he said urgently.

"Lily, I'm sorry for the pain I'm causing you, but I have—I have to go. I—I love you, Lily. I love you—"

Sirius was pulling him away, getting ready to Apparate.

"I love you."

Inside her dark apartment, crying silently into her hands, Lily heard the telltale _crack _and let out a strangled sob. It was too late for him to hear, but it didn't matter. "I love you, James," she whispered.


	9. Chapter 9

Lauren: Oh, man, I'm happy with this chapter. It was a joint effort—I wrote most of it, but Juneaua did the last four pages, which, if you ask me, is the best part. Anyway, sorry it's taken so long to update. You can usually tell who's writing it by the amount of time between chapters—the longer it takes, the more likely it's Juneaua's (that's one of those truths of life that has been in effect every since the beginning of time). Well, enjoy, and even if you don't, tell us why you didn't in a review.

The first thing that crossed James' mind was that he had gotten stuck halfway through Apparating, but he felt Sirius bump into him and realized that it was simply pitch black. Swallowing hard and gripping his wand tightly, he muttered, "Lumos!"

A point of light flared inches from his hand, illuminating the dark room around him. Its peeling, blood-red wallpaper and unfinished floor planks were all too familiar. Sirius unconsciously rubbed the ropy scars that formed an X under his shirt, and James knew he was remembering the morning two years previously when those cuts had been slashed into his chest.

Forcing that memory from his mind, feeling like it would be a bad omen to think about the events that had transpired then, he took a few tentative steps forward.

"It'll be in Voldemort's study, you think?" he whispered nervously, peering around the room as though expecting something menacing to jump out from an unseen crevice. He gestured towards the door.

Sirius nodded, steeled himself, and crossed to it, reaching out to grasp the handle but pausing before he did. "We can't be seen."

James groaned. "I meant to drop by my apartment, but I got so caught up—oh."

Sirius had withdrawn a long piece of silvery fabric that ran fluidly across his hands. "I grabbed it for you," he said. James, knowing Sirius, expected him to grin cockily, but his face remained grave and serious. This uncharacteristic level of severity from his best friend drove the importance and the danger of this mission home. With a renewed sense of caution, he joined Sirius under the cloak. Letting out a long breath, he reached towards the door handle and opened it warily.

The corridor outside was deserted. Hardly daring to breathe a sigh of relief, they began to walk slowly forward. The corridor ended where it intersected another one, and they looked left and right nervously.

"Left?" Sirius whispered.

"Yeah… yeah, I think so," James muttered. "Then left again, and then down a flight of stairs."

"I hope you're right," Sirius said fervently. "I was in too much pain to think clearly the last time we were here."

Trying not to make any noise, forcing down the fear that was rising inside of them, they made their way through the corridors. The torches glaring in their brackets cast eerie shadows and gave the house a haunted feel, as though there were some sort of malevolent spirit following them silently through the halls.

"It's like being back at Hogwarts," Sirius hissed as they descended a second flight of stairs and passed a door through which they could hear loud, raucous voices.

"Yeah," James whispered sarcastically, "except now we're surrounded by Death Eaters, we're not on our way to do something enjoyable, we don't fit under the Cloak very well, and the fate of the world as we know it is resting on our errand. Exactly like—"

He felt Sirius's hand clamp over his mouth; footsteps were approaching from around a distant corner. Pressing themselves against the wall, they waited for a small man with dark hair to walk by them and enter the room they had just passed. Breathing hard as though they had been running, they began moving again, this time not daring to talk.

Occasionally, a Death Eater would pass them without incident. There was a close call when one of them brushed so close he felt the Cloak touch him, but, after a moment's consideration, he seemed to attribute it to a breeze from a nearby window and continue on his way. James, who had expected the place to be swarming with Death Eaters now that Voldemort had so much support, grew more uneasy by the moment—the lack of opposition seemed ominous. He tried to convey his fears to Sirius, but his friend just flapped his hand at him to hush him as a woman came out of a room with a glazed look on her face. As soon as she had disappeared in the opposite direction, they continued on their way.

They came to the end of the corridor, turned right, and found themselves face to face with the last place in the world they wanted to be, and the one place they were trying to get to.

"It's his study," Sirius breathed.

James glanced at him, sucked in a deep breath and held it, and reached out for the doorknob, but his friend stayed his hand. "We don't want to go barging through the door if he's in there. I don't know about you, but I'm not terribly keen to have to face him. Besides, it's probably locked."

"Send a motion sensor in there," James hissed. "You know, that new spell you said Mad-Eye Moody had developed."

Sirius looked at him skeptically. "I don't know if I can do it right," he muttered. "I'm only a trainee auror; I've never learned it, I've just seen him do it."

"Well, our other option is just walking in there. A spell gone awry can't do much more harm than that."

Still looking apprehensive, Sirius pressed his wand tip to the center of the door and muttered, "_Repario agitus!_"

The point of contact glowed with a pale yellow light, which shifted through a rapid succession of vivid colors and finally came to rest on bright pink.

"That's supposed to mean that there's some sort of fire in there—candle, maybe—but if there was actually a person, it'd have blue streaks, too… that is, if it worked right."

"Only one way to find out," James whispered grimly, and he tried the knob, but it didn't turn. He hardly knew what he had expected—of course it would be locked. He tried _Alohamora,_ but that had no effect. "Voldemort wouldn't lock his study with spells that are so easily broken," James whispered, angry with himself for even trying.

"Hang on," Sirius muttered, digging around in his pocket again. A moment later, he withdrew a thin, switchblade knife. He inserted it into the crack at the top of the door and ran it along the entire edge, and as soon as he stepped back, the door sprung open with a soft click.

James found himself facing a room that was even less welcome to him than the one into which they had Apparated. For the briefest instant, he could see Lily standing in front of the hearth, gasping as a snake wound its way up her arms, see himself lying on the floor, bleeding to death from cuts across his chest, see Dumbledore stepping out of the fire to calmly face Lord Voldemort.

_There's no Dumbledore to save us today, _he thought grimly. _We're on our own. _

"Let's get this thing over with," Sirius whispered. "I'll go stand watch in the hall; you look for the journal."

Nodding curtly and slipping out from under the Cloak, James took a deep breath and started shuffling through stacks of parchment and books that lined the enormous desk. "It won't be out in the open, you dolt," James muttered to himself, glancing around the room for any possible hiding spaces. He knew next to nothing about concealment charms—that was more in an auror's line of work. Maybe Sirius—

But Sirius was careening into him, forcing him against the wall and throwing the cloak over him with speed driven by desperation. A split second later, someone stepped calmly into the room.

James, whose heart had been thumping so loud he was sure it would be audible from the hall, was relieved to see that it was not the Dark Lord. The Death Eater, face masked, walked straight to the fireplace, knelt down, and pressed the area on his left forearm that James knew bore the Dark Mark against a slab of stone. A second later, it slid open to reveal a wooden chest that had been cemented in place and seemed sealed shut, without lock or hinge. However, the man ran his wand across the top and muttered an incantation that neither James nor Sirius caught. Silently and slowly, the chest slid open of its own accord, revealing the contents beneath: a thin, leather-bound book of parchment—with the name _Caradoc Dearborne_ imprinted in gold lettering on the front.

"That's it," James breathed.

The man jumped nervously and whirled around. Seeing nobody, he whispered as though to reassure himself, "He _told _me to do this. I'm doing nothing wrong. This is what the Dark Lord _wants. _He would never have told me how to get in otherwise…"

Had the situation not been so intense or serious, James would have found it hard to resist the temptation to laugh. As it was, however, he was focused on one thing: the journal in the Death Eater's hand. The man stood slowly, replaced the hearthstone, and moved towards the door.

Sirius nudged James silently, and the pair moved after him.

The Death Eater walked far too fast for their liking. It was hard to keep up and remain silent and stay invisible all at once. At one point, they nearly lost him, but they found to their relief that he had stopped in the next corridor for a short conversation with another Death Eater, and they managed to keep up with him.

James had no idea what direction they were headed, but there seemed to be one consistency: they kept going up. One flight of stairs would hardly have ended when they encountered a second one. He was surprised and inexpressibly relieved that the man had not heard them panting, though that was probably due in part to the Death Eater's own gasping breaths as he worked his way up the stairs.

Finally, James felt something different: a breath of cool air on his face. They were ascending steps again, and the man pushed open the door at the top and stepped through it. The invisible pair behind him slipped up after him and found themselves outside in the cold night air.

An intense fog surrounded the rooftop, and they could hardly see thirty feet in any direction. The man shifted nervously, muttering to himself again about how he was "on an errand." Sirius and James exchanged determined glances, and as one, they raised their wands to point at the man's head and pulled off the cloak.

The Death Eater jumped so high he nearly toppled over upon hitting the ground. His small eyes, wide with fear, bugged out at the sight of the two grim men standing before him, wands aimed directly between his eyes.

"We'll take that, if you please," James said conversationally, reaching out his hand for the journal.

"I—what?" the man stammered. "No, no, you can't, he'll kill—"

"Then you'll die," Sirius said coldly, stepping forward menacingly. "You don't deserve to live."

"You have a choice," James said, circling him but not lowering his wand an inch. With his other hand he stuffed the Invisibility Cloak into his pocket. "You can refuse to give us the journal and we'll have to fight, perhaps kill, you for it. Or you can hand it over and face your master. Or, if you so choose, you can hand it over and come with us. You will be hidden from Lord Voldemort—"

"_Don't!_" the man shrieked in terror. "_Don't _say his name!"

Sirius laughed derisively. "If he's on your side, why are you so scared of him?"

"The Dark Lord has powers you cannot even begin to conceive," the man whispered fearfully. He raised a long, bony finger to point at Sirius. "You make a grave mistake by daring to oppose him."

"Give me the journal," James repeated softly. "I'm going to give you to the count of ten. Ten…"

The man glanced fearfully around him, as though looking for backup. When no one materialized out of the fog, he looked nervously between Sirius, whose grim, callous expression held no mercy, and James, whose face was cool and emotionless—free of pity or doubt.

"Nine."

"I—"

"Eight."

"Consider the odds," Sirius said softly. "Two against one, and we could hex you before you could even go for your wand."

"Seven."

"He'll find me," the man whispered.

"Six."

"Anywhere I go, he'll find me."

"Five."

"Better to die for doing something good than for defending something evil," Sirius answered grimly.

"Four."

"Please, don't do this…"

"Three."

The man's eyes were wide with fear.

"Two."

"Don't hurt me, please, you can't—"

"One."

"Alright!" The man collapsed at James's feet, sobbing. The journal tumbled out of his hand, and Sirius snatched it up, clutching it to his chest. The man cradled his hand as though he had lost a limb, moaning about how he would be killed for disobeying the Dark Lord. James, feeling an exasperating pang of pity, knelt beside him.

"Come with us," he urged. "We will hide you."

"No one can hide from me."

The voice, coming from directly behind him, chilled James's blood. Standing slowly, feeling as though his legs were suddenly made of lead, he turned around.

Before him stood Lord Voldemort.

"_Accio journal,_" he hissed, and despite all of Sirius's struggles, the thin book tore free from his grasp and flew to Voldemort's hand. James, trying to focus on something other than the gut-wrenching fear that was sinking into his veins, struggled to inhale, as though the capacity to breathe had deserted him. Voldemort chuckled coldly, and suddenly, the sound seemed to echo through the fog around them, coming from all directions. Thirty or more Death Eaters materialized out of the fog, laughing along with their master, surrounding James and Sirius.

"I am indebted to you," Voldemort said, his lip curling. "You have provided a most effective test of loyalty for dear Yves Heathrow here."

The man cowering on the ground let out a wail. Voldemort sneered derisively. "You failed me, Heathrow."

"My Lord," he sobbed, "My Lord, it won't happen again, I swear—"

"Of course not," Voldemort said. "It will never happen again."

The man let out a strangled gasp. "Thank you, merciful master, thank you…"

Those dark eyes flared in disgust. "I am merciful, yes. I will spare you a painful death."

"I give you my endless gratitude, Lord, thank you, thank you…"

Voldemort sneered. "I accept it." He raised his wand. "_Avada Kedavra!_"

Heathrow's body collapsed limply to the ground, and Voldemort stepped emotionlessly over it. "I said I would spare him a painful death, even though he deserved one."

The Death Eaters around them began jeering as Voldemort slowly approached Sirius and James. The latter tried to raise his wand, but his arm would not move, would not obey his command—whether it was paralyzed by terror or by some spell, he could not tell. Voldemort, barely a foot away, raised a slender finger to trace a long, narrow scar on James's face. Two years had made them faint and thin, but they were still there, and—assuming he lived out the night, which seemed less likely by the moment—they would never fade entirely. He jerked back involuntarily, his hand flying to his face as though to wipe away a sickening mark that had tainted his skin.

"James Potter," he whispered, "and Sirius Black. I knew the Order of the Phoenix would send somebody, but I admit did not think it would be…" he paused, and his lips twitched into a sneer, "two _boys. _Is Dumbledore so desperate he's simply snatching up his favorites right out of Hogwarts?"

Sirius swallowed hard and raised his wand. "Give me the journal," he said. His voice shook, but he held his ground determinedly.

A laugh rippled around the circle of Death Eaters. Voldemort's high-pitched cackle was muffled by the fog, but it was no less bone-chilling. "Give you the journal?" he repeated disbelievingly. "You think I'm just going to hand it over to you, Black? Surely your lineage could not have made you so high and mighty as to believe that!"

"Then I'll fight you for it." Sirius spat.

James, his mind finally seeming to regain control of his arm, raised his wand. "And so will I."

Voldemort's lip curled, and with the shadow of a laugh, he turned his back and started for the door that would lead him inside. He paused just before stepping through, and he turned his head back to face them. His eyes were full of malice and his face twisted in loathing. Without taking his eyes off of them, he spoke to his Death Eaters.

"Kill them," he hissed.

Then he was gone.

James closed his eyes as the yells and jeers of the Death Eaters grew louder in his ears. The only thought that ran through his mind was that he had sworn to Lily that they would reach their wedding day, and he was about to be killed. He felt Sirius move so that they were back to back. His best friend was whispering something about fighting it out to the last, but all James heard was, "You promised Lily, you lying bastard, you _promised _her…"

Forcing the thought desperately from his head, he opened his eyes to see the circle of cloaked, menacing figures drawing closer.

"We were always going to go out together," Sirius whispered, bending his knees slightly as the Death Eaters around them approached. There was no longer any panic in his voice: only determination and anger and, barely noticeable, a tinge of sorrow. Sirius did not welcome death, but neither did he fear it.

"If you make it out of this and I don't," James muttered, clutching his wand tighter, "tell Lily—tell her I'm—I'm so, so sorry."

"If you go down, mate, I'm right there with you," Sirius answered. "You never could do anything without me—why should dying be any different?"

"On three, then?"

"May as well."

They sucked in a long breath.

"One… two… three."

James shouted, "_Lumen confundus!" _at the same time Sirius roared, "_Contremisco!"_ and the battle was on.

He knew from the beginning that they didn't stand a chance. The only thing they could hope for was to stay alive long enough to take some of their opponents down with them. Although Sirius had erected a shield around them, it was flimsy because it covered such a wide range, and it would shatter with a few more spells. The Death Eaters that were drawing slowly, methodically nearer would not be hindered by a shield that was meant to deflect magic, either: their time was running out.

James sent one more jet of light in their direction, and one of the figures deflected it, sending it straight back at him. The shield collapsed, and then Sirius and James were on their own. With a roar, the Death Eaters charged forward, and the pair braced themselves for death.

Sirius was knocked sideways, and he felt his head slam against the roof panels. Stars erupted in his vision, and he felt warm blood trick from his hair onto his forehead. Gritting his teeth against the pain and forcing his eyes to focus, he pushed himself to his feet and flew at his attacker, jabbing him in the eye with his wand and muttering a spell at the same time. The man fell limply to the ground, the bones in his arms and legs gone. Sirius jumped out of the way as another spell flew towards him, but he found himself facing another man, whose arm flew out, knocked him to the ground, and grasped him by the throat. Sirius felt his windpipe close as the Death Eater's thumb pressed against his trachea. His wand was knocked out of his hand and sent spinning several feet from him. Struggling helplessly against the merciless iron grip, he felt his consciousness beginning to slip away.

James saw his best friend fall. He lunged towards the man as his hand closed around Sirius's throat, but he found another Death Eater blocking his way. With the fury that only desperation could evoke, he threw himself at the obstacle in his path, bowling him over as he raced towards Sirius.

His friend's struggles were getting weaker, less violent. _No, _James thought desperately, _no, no, no no no—_

He was flying towards them, his mind screaming for his legs to move faster. Each step seemed to last an eternity, but he was almost there—

A spell hit him in the chest.

He halted, gasping for breath. His mind swam, his vision blurred. His tongue felt thick on the roof of his mouth, and his lungs did not seem to work. He stumbled backward, clutching at his heart. An empty coldness spread from where the spell had hit to the outermost reaches of his body, a horrifying paralysis that left him devoid of strength. His legs buckled beneath him, and he expected to hit the cold roof beneath, but his stomach lurched sickeningly as he realized that he had plunged over the side…

Time seemed to slow down as Sirius, barely hanging on to consciousness, watched James stumble, fall, and plummet over the edge of the building. Suddenly the pain in his neck vanished and all that Sirius felt was a black abyss of disbelief. He wasn't sure what happened next. The Death Eater who had been strangling him writhed away as though he had been shocked, and Sirius was lunging for his wand as soon as he was free. He could hardly breathe, but he managed to gasp, "_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

The fog was too thick to see; the best he could do was hold on to the tiniest sliver of hope that his spell had worked. Without stopping to think, he pushed his oxygen-starved body from the ground, leapt to the edge of the building, and threw himself off.

He had never tried this before, but, he had told himself in the split second he'd had to decide, there was no reason it shouldn't work. And if it didn't, well then, he was only dying a few moments sooner than he would have otherwise. As soon as he felt the roof disappear from beneath his feet, he jabbed his wand into his own ribs and gasped out the same spell he had used on James: "_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

Sirius felt his body decelerate rapidly, as though he were on some wild ride at a Muggle amusement park, and then he hit the ground. The impact, while it left him intact, was hard enough to knock the wind out of him, and he lay there for a few minutes panting and groaning. The combined forces of his injured throat and his painful fall made it nigh impossible for him to breathe, and despite his best efforts to remain conscious, he blacked out.

He must have awoken only a few moments later, because when he did, he could hear distant voices above him, even though the top of the building was shrouded in fog.

"There's no way they could have survived a fall like that."

"What spell did the second kid cast before he jumped?"

"I didn't see, but what kind of spell could have saved his friend? And as far as I know, he didn't have wings, so he couldn't have flown down after he jumped."

"Maybe we ought to make sure…"

"Be my guest. We'll use your body as proof that you can't fall nine stories and live."'

"We'd take the long way, you fool, down the stairs."

"I suppose it can't hurt. At least we'll have their bodies to show the Dark Lord."

Sirius, struggling not to pass out again, forced himself to stand. He felt an agonizing pain in his side; he figured he must have broken a rib. He glanced around him, looking for James, and a leaden knot formed in his stomach as he saw a motionless form on the ground twenty feet away, barely visible through the fog.

"God, no, _please_ no, not James," he whispered as he limped towards his fallen friend. He collapsed beside him, tears sliding down his cheeks and landing like raindrops on James's face.

"James," Sirius said weakly. "James, wake up…"

He glanced towards the roof, and he knew that the Death Eaters were on their way down to make sure they were dead. "Prongs, please, don't do this to me, c'mon, we've gotta get out of here," he whispered, shaking him desperately. "C'mon, mate, you can't go anywhere without me."

Realizing there was no time to lose, Sirius, refusing to believe, unwilling to admit the truth in what he saw, dragged James's limp arm over his shoulders and stood laboriously. His breath still came with agonizing gasps, but he forced himself to move forwards. One step, two steps, three steps—every one felt like a thousand. He was crying silently, but he tried to force the tears back. "He'll be fine," he growled to himself, but it was a weak lie—he knew it wasn't true.

They were almost at the end of the alley when a dark figure materialized out of the fog. Sirius squinted, and he blinked as he realized who it was.

"Bella?"

Her eyes widened in sudden recognition, her wand hand slackening. "Sirius?"

"Bellatrix!" He took a step towards her, but she drew back, raising her wand level with his chest.

"Take one more step and I'll hex you."

Sirius froze. "What—"

"He sent me…to kill you." She laughed bitterly. "My first test."

Sirius was taken aback. "Bella…you can't…you didn't…you promised me!"

"I know," she whispered through gritted teeth.

"You promised—"

"I KNOW!" she shrieked, and then her voice dropped back to a pained whisper. "I know."

"Bella—"

"I'm seventeen now," her voice rose to an almost hysterical pitch. "He came to me that very night and branded me." She jerked up her sleeve, revealing the dark mark burned onto her skin.

"You promised me, Bella," Sirius's voice shook. "When we were young—"

"I know what I promised!" She exploded, her eyes flashing with unreadable emotion.

"We promised each other we wouldn't join him! We wouldn't give in because of our bloodline, because of who we are!" He dropped his voice to an almost inaudible whisper. "Do you remember?"

"I remember," she replied softly, then looked up and met his eyes defiantly. "But I'm not like you, Sirius! I'm not strong like you! I can't go on alone, without my mum and my dad and my sisters. I need my family to be proud of me. To stand by me. I'm not strong enough to stand alone! I _need _them there, to support me. I don't have a James Potter to rescue me and take me in and pick me up when I fall!"

"And I'm not going to have a James Potter any more if you don't let us by!" Sirius started forward, but Bellatrix stepped in front of him.

"I can't let you go!" she cried, her voice rising again. "He'll_ kill_ me!"

"Then let him kill you! Better to die then betray your friends! Betray your family!"

Her hand trembled. "I can't!"

"Remember when we were young…" His voice dropped to a soft, tender whisper. "When we told each other everything…"

"You don't understand!" she burst out furiously.

"You were like my sister…"

"STOP!"

"We promised we would _never _join him. We'd stand together, and if we had each other that would be enough…"

"SHUT UP!"

"I came to you, the night I ran away. We sat up in the tree by your window and promised each other. And now you've betrayed me!"

She cast her eyes down, guilty. "Things have changed, Sirius," she whispered furiously. "I was so young, then."

"What's changed, Bella?" Sirius challenged. "What's changed that made you stab me in the back?"

They could hear voices from within the manor house, coming closer. Bellatrix's eyes flashed in panic. She raised her wand. "I have to Sirius, I'm sorry!"

"Then kill me, Bellatrix!" he challenged, the hatred and hurt seeping into his voice. "Kill me for your new master."

They stood still, frozen, Sirius glaring defiantly at his cousin. Bellatrix's wand was shaking so badly that even if she had tried, her spell would have missed him, her face contorting from the inner turmoil, tears pouring down her cheeks.

The Death Eater's voices were drawing nearer.

Bellatrix clasped both her hands around her wand, a sob tearing itself from her throat.

"Come on, Bella," Sirius's voice was wickedly soft. "I dare you."

With a cry of anguish, Bellatrix dropped her wand and collapsed to the ground, trembling, her hands balling into fists and wrenching the dirt below them free.

Sirius looked down at her, disgusted. "You are weak, Bellatrix. And you are a coward. Too cowardly to take a side for fear of what the other will do to you."

"Go," Bellatrix whispered, looking up at him through her tangled hair with an icy bite in her voice and an intensity in her eyes he had never before seen in her. "Get out of here."

Sirius realized for the first time how difficult it was to support his own weight, let alone James's, and he laboriously began to drag his friend's limp form away. He could hear the Death Eater's thundering footsteps as they came towards them.

"Next time we meet," Bellatrix called after him, "I will kill you."

There was no child in her voice now. There was no fear. Only cold loathing. Loathing, for he had made her doubt, loathing, for he had preyed on her weakness. For he had made her feel.

Sirius stopped in spite of himself, battling the urge to be sixteen again and turn around and embrace the girl he had grown up with.

But he didn't look back. "So be it."

He staggered away, dragging James's limp form behind him. Bellatrix's dark silhouette was shrinking into the misty air until it was barely visible. She was still watching him walk away.

Sirius could barely breathe as he stumbled forward, away from Voldemort's dark manor. Each breath sent a sharp pain through his chest, and he was partially blinded by the fog. His foot snagged on something something, and he stumbled, catching himself before he fell. Gasping for breath and knowing he couldn't go on much farther, he tried to Disapparate, but found the anti-Appartion spell still upon him. Gritting his teeth, trying to block out the screaming voices of the Death Eaters so close behind them, he struggled on.

Every few steps he tried to Disapparate, desperate to reach the boundary of the spell.

Finally, so lost in the fog that he could no longer see where he was going but was instead simply stumbling through the disorienting haze, he felt the spell lift. He stopped, relief coursing through him until he realized he didn't know where to go. His first thought was Hogwarts—where Dumbledore was—but he couldn't Apparate within the Hogwarts grounds. Hogsmeade was close, but they would be seen too easily there, and Voldemort had spies everywhere. The Order's headquarters had the same protective spells as Hogwarts. James's and his apartments were too dangerous, too obvious. When the Death Eaters discovered they were still alive they would probably send someone to finish them off.

_Think, _he commanded himself, racking his brain. _Somewhere to hide…somewhere we'll be safe…somewhere the Order is…_

The Burrow.

The thought struck him suddenly. Molly and Arthur were members of the Order who sometimes held meetings at their home. There could be Order members there now. Members who would help them.

Summoning all his strength, he tightened his hold around James's lifeless body and Disapparated. He felt the familiar stretching sensation, this time magnified ten fold in agony as it tore at his beaten body. His vision blurred and he was afraid of passing out and being lost in this netherworld.

_The Burrow…Molly and Arthur's…The Burrow! Please! I've got to make it! I've got to!_

Finally, his feet slammed into the hard floor beneath him. His vision blurred, and his surroundings were distorted in a mass of fading color, rendering them indistinguishable.

Someone behind him screamed and he heard the crash of breaking glass. "Arthur! Moody! Come quick!"

Running footsteps sounded overhead, each one pounding down the stairs like a drum beat in Sirius's throbbing head. "Good Lord! Molly, what happened?" A woman was crying, her words indistinguishable between her sobs.

"Alastor, what's going on?"

Sirius felt his legs collapse beneath him, but someone caught him before he hit the ground. "Easy, Black," Mad-Eye Moody's gruff voice was unusually gentle, even tainted with a touch of apprehension Sirius had never heard before. "Molly, go call Dumbledore. Tell him what's happened. Arthur, we've got to get these two to St. Mungo's."

_Molly…Arthur…Moody…_

Molly's voice rang out over the shriek of what sounded like a small boy. "No! Charlie, go back to bed! Now! Bill! Back to your room, both of you!"

He could hear a little boy crying and another yelling, but no words were distinguishable.

"Molly, call Dumbledore!"

_Dumbledore…_

"Come on, Black. Keep breathing." Sirius felt Moody's hand slap his cheek gently, trying to force him back to consciousness. "You're safe now." Sirius's ragged, painful gasps began to ebb and the trembling that had engulfed him began to cease.

The whirl of blurry colors faded, and blackness closed in on the corners of his mind. Someone was saying his name, but his ears seemed to close to the noise, and in a moment, he knew no more.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Author's Note: I'd forgotten how much I loved writing fanficiton until I started again! I'd taken a short hiatus after finishing my long Eragon fic on my other account (go read it everyone!) And then I wrote the end of the last chapter, and I was kind of like… "Oh…nostalgia." Anyways…Lauren isn't very good at following directions. I told her to tell you all I was listening to "Two Weeks from Twenty" by Yellowcard when I wrote the last chapter, because it was incredibly relevant to what I was writing:-) But she didn't…so that's what I was listening to, and now I'm listening to "Lily's Eyes" from the Secret Garden…thought it was rather appropriate.**_

_**Enjoy! And PLEASE PLEASE review! I know there's a ton out there reading who have not yet reviewed!**_

_**-Juneaua**_

Lily woke up late Sunday morning.

She had spent a restless night as terrifying, tormented by haunting images that burned her subconscious whenever she began to drift into sleep. When the stars were beginning to fade in the dark sky, she had finally drifted into an exhausted and, thankfully, dreamless sleep.

When she woke, it was to find she had overslept her alarm by nearly an hour and a half.

She rolled out of bed, running her fingers through her flyaway hair to pry out the tangles. She put the kettle on for tea, then dressed slowly, retreating back into the kitchen when the kettle started to whistle. She poured her self a cup and dropped a piece of toast in the toaster, her thoughts far away from her standard routine.

She was scanning the front page of the Daily Prophet absently when she heard a _whoosh _behind her. She turned, startled, to find a fire had sprung into her grate, Remus Lupin's head floating amidst the flames.

"Remus!" Lily hurried over to the fire, dropping on her knees so their eyes were level. "How are—" She realized suddenly how agitated he looked, the lines that were ever present on his face deeper than normal, his eyes clouded.

He cut her off.

"Lily, James and Sirius are in St. Mungo's."

Lily felt her stomach wrench. Her whole body seemed to shut off, and she found suddenly she couldn't—she had forgotten—how to breathe.

"Wh-What?"

"Something went wrong on their assignment. Dumbledore just sent me a Patronus. He said to meet him at St. Mungo's, and for you to come too. He's afraid Voldermort will send Death Eaters to your place once he realizes James and Sirius have escaped. He'll think they came to you. Dumbledore's at St. Mungo's now waiting for us to make sure we're safe. Can you meet me there?"

Lily had heard none of this. Her hands were trembling so badly that steaming tea was careening over the sides of the cup in her hands. Her mind was trapped in her last conversation with James through the door of her apartment, her angry retorts, his desperate pleas. _"I promise, I swear with every fiber of my being, we will both live until our wedding day."_

She hadn't ever really said goodbye.

"What happened, Remus?"

"I don't know, Dumbledore didn't tell me. Lily, you've got to get out of there!" There was desperation in his voice now, and a twinge of panic. "Quick! Can you meet me at St. Mungo's?"

She didn't reply, and her eyes betrayed her to be lost in her own heartache. "Lily? Lily!"

She crashed back to her living room with a visible jolt. "Yes—Yes! I'll be there!"

Without another word, Remus jerked his head from the fire. The flames flickered, then died, and he was gone.

Lily sat for a moment, engulfed in a paralyzing cloud of shocked numbness. Then suddenly the teacup was lying on the floor, spreading a dark stain over the carpet, and the toast was smoldering in the toaster, but Lily was gone.

-- -- --

Bellatrix was cold.

Sirius's shadow against the fog was gone, and the Death Eaters were upon her.

But she was only cold.

Someone screamed her name, and she turned as a masked figure struck her across the face.

She stumbled, collapsing to the ground, the tears coiled in her throat escaping.

The man was cursing her, screaming at her, swearing at her. "You let them go! You let them escape! You bloody little slut! Wait until the Dark Lord gets his hands on you!"

_You let him go..._

He ripped off his mask in furry, revealing the pale face of Lucius Malfoy, etched with furry. He raised his wand, and Bellatrix flinched

"Lucius, no!"

Her sister Narcissa's hand coiled around her fiancée's wrist, jerking his wand away from Bellatrix. "Justice is not yours to administer. Let the Dark Lord be her judge."

Lucius jerked from her grip furiously. "You wish to spare her, Cissy? You think the Dark Lord will be more merciful than I?"

"Merciful, no. But it is his judgment to administer."

Lucius stared at her, his furry at Bellatrix carrying over to her thin, emaciated sister. Breathing heavily, he reached down and seized a handful of Bellatrix's sable hair, dragging her to her feet, his eyes never leaving Narcissa's. "Miserable wretch," he muttered under his breath, though which sister he addressed Bellatrix couldn't say.

He turned on his heel and started towards the manor house, his hand still clasped around Bellatrix's hair, leaving her no choice but to follow.

Terrified, trembling all over, Bellatrix allowed herself to be dragged up several flights of stairs and dark corridors until they reached the imposing door of Voldermort's study. Lucius knocked twice. Bellatrix noticed that his confidence and ferocity had suddenly vanished, for he knew he was partially responsible for the loss of their captives.

"Come in," whispered the soft voice from within.

Lucius hesitated for a moment, as though he very much wanted change his mind and forget the whole thing. But he pushed the door opened and pulled Bellatrix into the room behind him.

Voldermort turned from his desk, drumming his long white fingers together expectantly. "There is only one thing you can possibly tell me that will guarantee you leaving this room alive, Lucius."

Lucius swallowed, tossing his blonde hair over his shoulder nervously. "My Lord…my deepest apologies…"

Voldermort slammed his fist on his desk, and both Lucius and Bellatrix jumped. "Thirty Death Eaters, Lucius, nearly _thirty _of my best men against two of Dumbledore's _boys. _And you failed me." His eyes flashed, and his wand was suddenly in his hand.

Lucius cowered. "My Lord, they fell…Potter fell off the roof, and Black jumped. We assumed them dead. We were going to look—"

"I don't want excuses, Lucius!" Voldermort roared, his eyes flashing red.

"It was her!" Lucius threw Bellatrix to the ground at Voldermort's feet. "She let them escape."

Voldermort turned his gaze from Lucius, but did not lower his wand. "Bellatrix…Bellatrix Black…"

Bellatrix began to sob, her whole body wracked by the agonizing gasping tears. "I'm sorry, My Lord, please forgive me! Spare me and I shall devote the rest of my existence, the rest of my entire being, to you and your service!"

"Silence!" Voldermort snapped, and Bellatrix fought back her tears cries with difficulty. "Leave us, Lucius."

Lucius bowed, relief seeping into his face, and backed hurriedly out of the room. Voldermort flicked his wand and the door shut with a snap. The turned slowly back to Bellatrix cowering at his feet.

She expected death at the least. Probably intense pain, then death. That seemed most likely punishment for a traitor to the Dark Lord.

But to her great surprise, he knelt on the floor beside her and tilted her chin upward so she was looking him in the eyes. She shuddered and cast her gaze aside.

"Are you afraid, Bellatrix?"

She faltered. "I—Yes sir."

"Because you are guilty?"

She choked on a sob caught in her throat. "I'm sorry, My Lord."

"Tell me what happened." He was sharp again, cruel again.

"It was Sirius…he told me things…" her fingers curled around her dark locks, tearing at them in anguish. "I was going to kill him, my Lord, I swear it!"

"Then why didn't you, Bellatrix?"

"He's my cousin! We were friends!" She dropped her head into her hands, letting out a cry like a wounded animal.

Voldermort looked down on her with disgust for a moment, then abruptly changed his tone. "I should never have sent you. I see that now. You were too weak to face him…too young to kill."

"Yes! Yes, my lord! I am weak! I am a coward!"

"And you openly admit this?"

"Because it is the truth!"

"You are seeking to gain my pity and my forgiveness by confessions of your own weakness."

Bellatrix's sobs rose again, and words escaped her.

Voldermort stood slowly, surveying her. "I shall see that those responsible are given what they deserve."

"Yes, My Lord," She choked, clasping her hands in front of her in thanks.

Voldermort suddenly turned his wand upon her, the manic gleam returning to his eyes. "Starting with you."

Through all the pain that followed, through all the darkness and blood and fire that fell upon the manor house in the wake of that evening, Bellatrix made a promise.

A promise to be strong. To never be weak again.

-- -- --

Lily's feet hit the ground of St. Mungo's with an unusually jarring impact. She stumbled slightly, hardly able to breathe through the painful lump that was trapped in her throat. She looked around, unable to focus on anything long enough to comprehend what it was she was seeing, her thoughts flying to James, perhaps in pain or bleeding, dead or dying, so close she could almost feel him.

"Lily!"

She turned. Remus was hurrying towards her, his face pale and lined with worry.

"Remus," she breathed, relieved to finally have something stable amidst a world that was careening off course.

He reached her, and she threw her arms around his neck, embracing her friend for a long, comforting moment as he rocked her back and forth soothingly. She wanted to cry. How desperately she wanted to cry, to release some of the emotion bottled up inside her, to clear her throat of the agonizing lump clogging it. But there was no release. Her eyes remained dry.

She finally dropped her arms from Remus's neck, and found he was wiping his own eyes. "Come on, we need to find what ward they're in."

He kept his arm around Lily's shoulders, and she allowed herself to be steered towards an information desk, behind which a short witch with closely cropped dark hair was scribbling a room number down on a piece of parchment for an aged wizard. She handed him the paper with instructions on how to reach the room, then called, "Next!"

Lily and Remus moved forward, and she smiled at them pleasantly. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, we're looking for James Potter and Sirius Black," Remus said, trying and failing to return the smile.

The witch ran her finger down a long scroll of parchment, then, finding no results, flipped it over and glanced at the other side. She shook her head. "Do you have any idea what ward they would be in?"

"I…no. Sorry."

The woman glanced at Lily, and she shook her head too. The witch continued her inspection of the list. "I don't see—" Her eye brows suddenly shot upward, nearly disappearing under her long bangs. She looked up at Lily and Remus. "Could I have your names, please?"

They exchanged a puzzled glance. "Remus Lupin."

"Lily Potter," Lily replied softly.

The witch nodded. "They're in a private ward, per request of Albus Dumbledore. He took down names of certain people to be admitted. Didn't want anyone just waltzing up there, I suppose. I can give you their room number. It's a little tricky to find."

A witch wearing lime green robes with spiky hair of the same shade was passing by, and she stopped and touched the dark haired witch on the shoulder. She broke off. "Sorry to interrupt, love, I'm just on my way up there. I'd be happy to take them."

"Great. Thanks," Remus choked with a strained smile.

"My pleasure, love. Follow me." And she led Lily and Remus down a side hall, away from the main stairs.

Lily and Remus followed her up a narrow spiral staircase, the walls on either side lined with sinister pictures of sour looking healers. They stared down at the intruders moodily as they passed.

The green haired witch seemed unperturbed by their dark glares, and broke the silence that hung over the trio. "I'm Lydia Thorgood. I'm a healer here and I teach part of our healer training."

"Then you know James," Lily piped up.

Lydia smiled. "Jim? Oh yeah, he's a great kid. You must be Lily," she added gently. "He's told me all about you."

"Have you seen him? Do you know what happened?"

Lydia shook her head. "I haven't been up yet. Didn't know anything had even happened until I came in today and found a note from Albus on my desk." She caught sight of Lily's worried frown and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "He'll be alright. Jim's a strong lad, and with Dumbledore…" she pulled open a brightly painted door at the top of the stairs. "He'll make it."

She led Lily and Remus down a deserted hall lined by windowless doors with small plaques bearing room numbers on them. They turned a corner just as a door down the hall opened and Dumbledore emerged. He smiled wearily as he saw them approaching.

"Lydia, my dear," he took her hand as they reached him and kissed it gracefully. She laughed, the merry sound feeling heavy and unfamiliar to Lily's ears, poised for bad news. "It has been too long."

"Albus." She glowed and, to Lily's surprise, her hair turned purple. "I came as soon as I got your note."

"And I applaud you for your promptness. You've come not a moment to soon." He squeezed her hand once more, and then she disappeared into the door behind them.

Dumbledore caught sight of Lily and Remus's questioning looks. "We went to school together," he offered by way of explanation.

"You—what?" Remus's eyebrows shot upward in surprise. "She's half your age!"

"Hardly." Dumbledore smiled. "She's a Metamorphmagus, as you probably noticed form her changing hair. Lydia is much older than she appears. It's impressive she keeps as sprightly and fit as she is. She is a very powerful witch, and has done much good in her lifetime." Dumbledore's benign smile remained fixed, but his tone lost its casual note. "I'm glad you were both able to come so quickly. Did either of you run into any trouble?"

They both shook their heads.

Dumbledore nodded. "Good. Miss Evans, no one came to your home? No Death Eaters?"

Lily shook her head again. "No one, sir."

"They'll be there soon enough. Would you be against staying at the Burrow for a few nights until we're sure it's safe for you to return?"

"I—no." The trembling was returning, knowing she was so close to James. "Professor, what's happened? Is James alright?"

"Can we see them?" Remus interjected.

Dumbledore held up a hand to silence their questions. "Allow me to elaborate as to the situation at hand before I let you see them. As you both know, I sent Sirius and James on an assignment for the Order, an assignment only they could complete. They had to Apparate to the same location at which Sirius was held captive several years ago. You remember?" They both nodded. "What none of us realized was that Voldermort was aware of their arrival. He arranged for one of his Death Eaters to lead them onto the roof, where an ambush was waiting for them. They both fought valiantly, but they were outnumbered, and the odds were against them. James was hit by spell as he rushed to protect Sirius, and the impact caused him to fall off the roof." Lily's hands flew to her mouth. "But, thanks to some very quick thinking from Sirius, who jumped after him, they both suffered only minimal injuries. Sirius was able to get them both to the edge of the Antiapparition spell that surrounded the premises, and Disapparate to the Burrow. That is all I know, and it is all according to Sirius."

"Is James alright?" Lily asked, trying to keep the impatience out of her voice.

She could tell Dumbledore had been avoiding this question.

"What happened to James?" Lily demanded again. "What spell was he hit with?"

"We don't know," Dumbledore replied evenly. "The healers have been unable to identify it."

"What do you mean?" Lily was beginning to lose her control. "What's it done to him?"

"Lily, please, calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Lily's anxiety exploded. "Just tell me what's going on!"

"I'll let you see for yourself." Dumbledore pushed the door behind him open and stepped back.

Lily took a deep breath, preparing herself for the worst.

The room was plain and pallid, devoid of any adornment. Sirius was sitting in a chair in a corner, his knees drawn up to his chest, his head buried in his hands. Mr. Weasley was leaning against the wall beside the door, his glasses in his hand, rubbing his eyes wearily. Mad-Eye Moody was beside him, along with a short, slightly plump man who looked a few years older than Lily and Remus. They all looked up as Lily and Remus entered. Sirius's head emerged form his hands, and he let out a sort of strangled sob of relief.

But Lily noticed none of this. She had eyes only for James, lying very still in the bed in the center of the room.

She fell forward to her knees beside him. No sound escaped her lips, but she could feel vicious claws tearing at her throat, and she realized she had forgotten to breathe.

His face was pale, his eyes closed; he could have been dead, he was so still, and when she reached out and took his hand, it was cold.

Someone said something to her; she vaguely registered someone saying her name, but she was lost to the rest of the world. It wasn't until she felt someone put a hand on her shoulder that she was shaken from her trance and looked up.

Sirius's face was as lined as Remus's, and he looked exhausted. Lily leapt to her feet and threw her arms around him and he returned the hug fiercely. It was almost like James, so warm and strong…but it was born from agony, and carried the raw edge of Sirius's personality, so different from the soft side of James that Lily loved.

In a sudden rush, the pain and the loss and the fear became too much, and she dropped her arms and pushed him away, perhaps a little too forcefully. She staggered away, her head suddenly spinning. Someone put a hand on her shoulder. "Lily…are you alright?"

It was Mr. Weasley.

"I just…I need…" She suddenly was afraid she might be sick. "I'll be back…in a minute."

She staggered from the room, reeling from shock. She spotted a door down the hall marked "Roof Access, No Admittance" and gravitated to it, desperate for a breath of fresh air.

The blast of cold wind tainted with rain struck her in the face, cooling her flaming cheeks. She stumbled from the stairwell, the icy gale refreshing and welcome. She peered over the edge of the roof at the cars, the trains, the people, hurrying by, oblivious to her and her pain.

She sank down, leaning her back against the short wall that ran the edge of the roof. She heard the door open behind her, but didn't turn around.

She felt someone sit beside her, but turned her head away, her lips trembling.

"It's cold out here," Remus said softly.

Lily didn't say anything, just shrugged slightly.

"Here, take my coat."

"No." Lily said, a little too sharply.

"No, here," Remus began to pull of his coat, but Lily pushed him away, unaware of how roughly she did.

"I said no!" She stood up, leaning over the railing, breathing deeply.

She heard Remus stand up behind her. "Lily, don't be like this."

"What am I supposed to be like?" she whispered viciously. "Calm? Composed?"

"You know what I mean." He was trying to be gentle. And she only hated him for it.

"Just leave me alone."

He didn't move. "Lily, please—"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" She shouted it down to the street, at the cars and the trains and the people who were going along with nothing bothering them, oblivious to the woman standing above in agony.

Remus didn't move for several seconds, then she heard him turn and leave slowly.

She didn't want to feel. It hurt too much.


	11. Chapter 11

**Lauren:** Sorry it took so long. It's Juneaua's fault.

Lily had always associated the Burrow with several things: hospitality, good food, laughter, and children. No one could treat a guest or cook as could Molly Weasley, and the general atmosphere of happiness, affection, and easy-going conversation was only interrupted by the boys chasing each other around the yard.

The Burrow held none of its usual charm. Not tonight.

When she and Remus Apparated into the kitchen, things hardly looked different than normal. The dinner dishes were washing themselves in the sink, the radio buzzed quietly on the window sill, and the floor was sparkling clean except for one thing: little Percy was curled up on it, cuddling his blanket, fast asleep with his thumb in his mouth. At any other time, Lily would have smiled at the two-year-old, but now she could barely find the energy to step over him and make her way towards the sitting room.

Bill and Charlie were seated on the couch on either side of their father, who was reading them a picture book, and Molly sat in the rocking chair in the corner of the room with one of the twins, who was gurgling happily and looking very determined not to go to sleep. As soon as she saw Lily and Remus, however, she set the baby down on the floor, stood up, and crossed to them. Arthur paused for a moment to give them a weary smile as Molly led them back towards the kitchen.

"Oh, Lily, dear," she said softly, embracing her sympathetically. "I know there's not much I can do, but I do hope you will feel free to ask…"

When Lily didn't look much like she was going to reply, Remus graciously filled the ensuing silence. "This is great, Molly, honest. Thank you for letting Lily stay here—she really needs somewhere safe to stay."

Molly turned her worried, kind-hearted eyes on him. "You're welcome to stay as well—I hardly think that you're in less danger than she is."

He tried to smile, but every moment he was forcing back tears. "I couldn't impose upon you," he said hoarsely. "Besides, I really don't think there will be any trouble."

"Remus…"

"No, Molly." He sucked in a long breath. "I—I just need to be alone for a while. I'll be fine. Thanks again."

"If you feel like you need to come, don't be afraid to, even if it is in the middle of the night. Arthur and I are often up anyway, since the twins don't sleep a full eight hours yet." She smiled warmly, as though trying to alleviate the heavy feeling of fear and grief that had pervaded her house.

The concern in her voice touched him, and he felt the wonderful warmth of her motherly affection.. He was glad that Lily would be in such hands, content that he had done what he could in escorting her here after spending the day at St. Mungo's. He gave her an exhausted hug and one last sorrowful smile, and then he Disapparated.

Lily declined the kind offers of food, pajamas, and butterbeer as civilly as she could. She hadn't eaten all day, but she didn't feel as though she could stomach anything just then, and her own, familiar clothes would be more comforting than a strange pair of pajamas. It didn't take Molly long to realize what she needed most, and with tender but firm hands, she guided her up the stairs to the guest bedroom. With a reminder to simply ask if she needed anything, Lily was left alone with her thoughts.

_Her thoughts. _That nightmare of her mind, where chaos reigned—the last place she wanted to be and yet the one she was irresistibly drawn to—the one spot on earth she would finally have to face with her heart what she already knew.

James was dying.

The spell was irreversible. The healers had tried everything they knew, and yet, for all their knowledge, this Dark Magic was unconquerable. His strength was slowly slipping away: his heartbeat was weaker, his breathing shallower, his pulse more erratic. They hadn't said it to her face—but she had overheard them telling Dumbledore. They wouldn't be able to keep him alive for more than three days without a countercurse.

And she could not bear to stand by him and watch.

She curled up on the bed, silent, anguished sobs wracking her frame. Everything was cold; nothing offered comfort, nothing brought forth inspiration—there was nothing. If James had been there, he would have held her, run his fingers through her hair, kissed her gently, told her it would be alright.

If James had been there, she wouldn't be suffering this agony in the first place.

Sometime in the early hours of the morning, she heard a baby cry.

She had not slept—how could she have slept?—but the wail started her out of a miserable reverie that she was only too happy to leave. Slipping silently out into the dark hall, she ascended a flight of stairs to the twins' room.

The cry hadn't woken Molly yet. Glad for something—anything—to get her mind off of her pain, she turned the knob and stole inside.

Fred (only distinguishable from George by his bright red pajamas) was wailing in his crib, and she crossed to him, gently lifting him out and cradling him in her arms. Slowly, methodically, she began walking back and forth across the room, softly singing the only tune that would come to mind.

"Strangely quiet, but now the storm

Simply rests to strike again…"

The baby's cries faded into nothing as he snuggled against her body. She rocked him gently, trying not to think of anything but the little Fred in her arms.

"From death she casts her spell

All night we hear her sighs

And now a girl has come who has her eyes…"

Their wedding day was supposed to be two weeks' time.

In two weeks, she would have been the happiest woman on earth. She had pictured that moment ever since she had first fallen in love with James, ever since the first time they had kissed. She had imagined, over and over again, him lifting the veil, putting one hand behind her head and the other around her waist, and drawing her in for the kiss that would unite them forever.

"Those eyes that saw him happy, long ago,

Those eyes that gave him life and hope he'd never known,

How can he see the girl but miss those hazel eyes?"

Fred was nearly asleep, but she did not want to put him back in his crib. Walking him around the room gave her restless legs something to do.

"She has her eyes, she has her brilliant, shining eyes,

Those eyes that closed and left me all alone…"

She halted with a sob as she realized the significance of that line. Fred stirred and opened his brown eyes to gaze at her, and her voice broke as she continued the bittersweet song.

"How can I now forget that once I dared to be

In love, alive and whole…"

James—her Prongs, her Jamie, her love—_her_ James—would never hold her again.

"I never really told him goodbye," she whispered, but there was no response from the infant now sleeping in her arms. _Oh, James, _she thought, pain and sorrow and loss stabbing as fatally as any dagger into her heart, _I can't keep going without you by my side._

"Forever is a long time," she whispered to Fred, and suddenly she felt calmer than she had since the moment news of Caradoc's death had reached her. "It's a long time to spend alone."

Fred's only answer was to sleepily curl his hand around her thumb.

Sadly, she crossed to the window and gazed out at the brilliant stars, still gently rocking the baby. "Life is short," she told him quietly. "Too short. You only just start to love—to really love—and then it's all snatched away from you." She exhaled slowly. "It's not fair, really," she continued softly. "To have something so brilliant, so wonderful, in our hands for one transitory, enchanted moment, only to lose it again. Better we had never known it at all."

_All is not lost._

Something within her mind had flared. That side of her that would not just lie down and take what was given, that part of her character that was determined to fight it out to the last no matter what the odds—that fire that still burned, never dampened, within her.

_He's not dead—not yet. You are not alone._

And suddenly, wild notions, half-conceived ideas were flying through her head.

_You have not failed him until you give up on him. _

"There's got to be a way," she whispered.

_I can't just let him go._

_I can't face eternity alone._

"I wish," she whispered hopelessly, "I wish I'd been further along in my alchemy lessons. Maybe—just maybe—I could have found something that would help him." A tear splashed on little Fred's face, and he stirred, but he didn't wake.

_What can I do?_

_Caradoc would have had an idea. If he'd—_

_Stop it with the "ifs",_ she reprimanded herself fiercely. _Wishful thinking won't do James any good, and it won't honor Caradoc's memory. What would they want me to do?_

_Caradoc would want me to use logic._

_James would want me to laugh it off._

It almost seemed, as the idea struck her, that a flash of light illuminated the room. The next thing she knew, her head was spinning, her mind darting like lightning as one thought followed another. Fred was back in his crib, and Lily was on her way downstairs.

_Do you really think it's feasible?_

She lit the tip of her wand as she entered the pitch-black kitchen and found her jacket hanging over the back of a chair. Her clothes were disheveled and her hair was a mess, but that didn't matter. She was so preoccupied with the possibility that had occurred to her that it took her several tries to find the right hole to put each arm through, and when she finally had it on, she realized it was upside down. Exasperatedly tearing it off and putting it on right, she was halfway to the door when she realized that if Molly and Arthur woke up the next morning to find her gone, they'd be worried sick and get half the wizarding world in an uproar. She hesitated a moment before going back into the kitchen and scrawling a brief note that told them she had left of her own accord and that she'd be back. And if she never came back—well then, she wouldn't be around to face the accusations of having lied.

The brisk night air felt like a blessing on her feverish cheeks. She knew where she wanted to go and she knew she couldn't walk there, but she needed a few moments to compose herself first—and to ask herself the question she wasn't sure she wanted an answer to.

_Can it work?_

Alchemy had been a natural choice for her—she had always been good at potions, and alchemy was generally considered the highest form of potions mastery. Now, she was sure it was the only thing that could help her.

_Well, _she told herself determinedly in response to her own question, _I can either try it or sit around and wait for James to die._

At the time of his death, Caradoc Dearborn had been studying and experimenting with the properties and procedures involved in the creation of what Lily figured was James's only chance of surviving: vinum vitae—the elixir of life.

If she knew anything about Caradoc Dearborn, it was that he wrote _everything_ down.

And the primary target of Lord Voldemort's attack had been that journal.

She was going to get it back.

She stopped a quarter of a mile down the gravel road from the Weasley's house, her hands thrust deep into the pockets of her jacket. It was now or never. Closing her eyes to block out everything that might distract her from her task, she took a deep breath, focused hard on the same room she had Apparated into two years ago, and felt the merciless bands take hold of her.

When her surroundings took shape around her, she inhaled sharply—the room brought back her memories with a sudden clarity that time had smudged and faded. She and James had been mortal enemies the last time they had been here, united only by desperation. They'd had more important things to concern themselves with than their mutual enmity.

Now she was here to fight with everything she had for the chance to spend the rest of her life with him.

Drawing a long breath, she crossed to the door, turned the handle, and peered out into the hallway. It was empty. Blessing her luck, she swallowed hard, pulled out her wand, and moved forward cautiously.

She came to the end of the short corridor and turned left. At the next corner, she would go left again, but after that, she would have to rely on vague memories that were as much chance as anything. Trying hard not to think about getting lost in this labyrinth-like manor, she forced herself to keep going.

_He must have increased his security measures, _she thought apprehensively. _He can't keep letting Order members sneak into his headquarters. _

Keeping this in mind as she proceeded silently through the silent, dark halls, covered in fading, dusty tapestries and empty sconces, she thought she would be ready for anything.

Looking back on it later, she realized she never had a chance.

Without meeting anybody, she came to an intersection where three corridors converged and then split off again, forming a large, circular room with six hallways leading off of it. Here, the ceiling was a wide, glass dome, forty feet high in the center, that reflected the stars outside.

The moonlight cast eerie shadows, and it felt as though something dark and sinister lurked nearby. Lily moved uneasily towards the center of the room, her wand clutched tightly in her bloodless fist. _I don't remember this, _she thought helplessly. _I'm lost._

On the floor, directly beneath the top of the dome, was a chilling image. Carved into the glossy black marble was the outline of a skull, nearly ten feet from top to bottom. A thin snake twisted out of its mouth, glittering silver filigree laid for its tongue and identical jade stones for its eyes, seeming to gleam maliciously in the cold light of the stars.

Lily wanted nothing more than to leave this room as swiftly as possible, but something in her was irresistibly drawn to the figure in the stone. She circled it slowly, repulsed and fascinated at once, wanting to touch it but afraid of being too near it. The skull seemed to smile coldly at her, its hollow eyes turning to gaze fixedly at her wherever she was.

_Just leave, _she told herself angrily. _This isn't where you want to be._

But she couldn't go. She wanted to touch it.

_Don't do it, _a small, rational voice in her head warned. _You know better than that, Lily Evans. You have no idea what it might do._

Still, she walked around it.

_Just once, _she insisted. _Then I'll leave._

_Lily, _the voice hissed, _don't be stupid._

_It's just a carving. What harm can it do?_

_The one thing you _do _know is that it can do absolutely no good._

She blocked the voice out. Something within her needed to feel it before she turned away.

Without leaving herself time to change her mind, she crouched down beside it and reached out towards the thin line in the marble. She hesitated just the barest breadth of a second, her fingertips hovering less than an inch away, and then they were pressed against the smooth, cold stone.

As soon as they touched, a flash of fiery red spread quickly through the cracks, outlining the skull in an inferno of demonic light. She tried to recoil, tried to turn and run, but suddenly, her limbs were no longer hers to control. Her wand clattered to the ground, and she felt herself rising into the air. A choking sob wrenched itself out of her throat as her feet left the floor, and slowly, slowly, she began to drift upwards. She could hardly move, she could hardly breathe; she could do nothing but lie limply in the grasp of whatever malevolent magic bound her. Five, ten, fifteen feet, and still she kept rising. Her panicked mind was afraid she would climb until she was pressed and crushed into the glass dome, but, at twenty feet from the ground, she stopped.

Lily struggled weakly, vainly against the spell. The echoing silence, broken only by her erratic breathing, was more terrifying even than the blazing skull beneath her; who knew what lurked just out of sight? The red glow of the Dark Mark now blended with the moonlight, making the shadows sharper, more menacing. Slowly, her struggles ceased as she realized that she was completely impotent, entirely at the mercy of the Dark Lord's diabolical snare—there was nothing she could do.

_Lily, you fool, _whispered her own voice.

There was a ringing silence.

How could you have possibly thought that you could get it back? 

She closed her eyes in anguish as the weight of her thoughtless, irrational actions crashed down upon her.

Were you out of your mind? she demanded of herself. James and Sirius were nearly killed on a mission to retrieve it, and you thought you could just waltz in here and snatch it out of the hands of the most powerful man in a century? 

She felt the searing tears begin to burn behind her eyes. _Why did you just run off without thinking first? What did you expect you were going to accomplish for James? Dying for him? _

_He would be ashamed._

She heard footsteps behind her.

A thrill of terror shot through her body. Her head snapped up and her eyes darted around the room, but there did not seem to be anybody there. She could almost feel his presence, like the biting chill of ice against her skin, yet she could not see him. Slowly, though, she felt her body begin to turn towards the other side of the room. The feeling of utter, paralyzing helplessness that had set in increased a thousand fold as her eyes met with the cold, gray, merciless ones of her captor.

"Voldemort," she whispered.

She had never said his name before, not out loud. She had always called him You-Know-Who, even before people had really learned to be afraid of him. James, Sirius, and Remus all scorned this name: Sirius thought it cowardly, Remus believed it impractical, and James—James had never understood why anyone wouldn't call him Voldemort.

"Changing his name doesn't change what he is," he had told her once, completely baffled by her aversion to it. "People are just as scared of You-Know-Who as they are of Lord Voldemort."

Maybe it was the image of James in her mind that caused her to revert to the title the Dark Lord had given himself.

"Yes, Voldemort," he answered calmly. He surveyed her with an unfathomable expression, and the flaming skull on the floor beneath her seemed to flare brighter as he stepped slowly forward. After a long moment of silence, he spoke. "I must admit, Miss Evans, that I hardly expected to see you here. I thought that after Dumbledore's boys failed, he would send someone with rather more experience—Marlene McKinnon or Edgar Bones, maybe—Alastor Moody, perhaps—but not Lily Evans. The dear headmaster's age must be catching up to him: he is making unwise decisions."

"He isn't," Lily said defensively before she could stop herself.

He raised his eyebrows. "Is there something in this situation I am unaware of that constitutes a wise decision?"

She averted her eyes, but not before he read the answer in them.

"Ah," he said softly, a cruel smile playing around his lips. "Dumbledore didn't send you."

He began walking leisurely around her, looking intently upwards at his captive. His piercing gaze sent an icy chill up her spine. "So Lily Evans is here to prove her valor," he sneered. "She even left her dear fiancé behind. Or did he choose to stay? Afraid to come after his last round of defeats?" His lips curled maliciously. "Your James Potter is a coward."

"No he's not," she snapped.

"Oh?" he said softly. "Then why isn't he here—if not to save you, then at least to suffer with you? Is that not what lovers are supposed to do? Stand by each other no matter what the cost?"

She was silent, but the tears were trying every moment to push past the painful lump in her throat.

"I wouldn't know, you see," he whispered, "I who have never loved. It is a foolish, weak thing, Lily—blinding to reality, so easily disappointed, fatally predictable, yet always mourned and never forgotten."

Of everything she had yet encountered, this was the one she could not bear—this mockery of humankind's most fundamental emotion, of her passions, of James, of _her—_and the worst part—the appalling truth—was that it made perfect sense. Had she not said the same to the sleeping baby in her arms barely an hour ago? Her words came back to her with a sudden clarity that brought a brutal stab of pain.

"_Better we had never known it at all."_

The tears in her eyes reflected the flickering light of the grotesquely grinning skull beneath her. Voldemort, still circling her slowly, did not speak, opting to let her dwell on her own pain and thus amplify it. Nothing was needed from him in that respect.

Several long minutes passed, Lily battling her emotions and Voldemort simply staring up at her, seeming to relish her agony, before he spoke again. "So if your James Potter is not a coward, then," he hissed, "why is he not here?"

Lily lowered her gaze, unwilling to let him see her pain, her heartache, her loss, her guilt. It seemed, though, that this was as revealing a response as any.

"Your dear fiancé has not recovered from his eight-story fall, has he? Or was it the spell that hit him before he plummeted to the ground?" he demanded quietly.

She swallowed hard, still trying vainly to force back her tears.

A moment later, his eyes flashed with sudden understanding. "And you're here because there's something in the alchemist's journal that will help you save him."

It was not a question.

He laughed callously when she remained silent. "Do not suppose me ignorant of your relation to Caradoc Dearborn, Lily. After I learned of the alchemist, it was the work of a moment to discover the apprentice."

She felt a renewed surge of terror. The monster before her had killed Caradoc for his secrets: it was not inconceivable that he would believe her to have more of the information that he sought. She was completely at his mercy, and there were hours ahead of them and no one to hear her scream.

His malicious smile widened, and his penetrating eyes seemed to lay bare the contents of her mind. It seemed to her that he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"You are here for the journal," he whispered. "That means you know how to read it."

Lily's heart sank as she heard these words. She had completely forgotten: Caradoc wrote everything in his own cipher that was virtually unbreakable. If even Lord Voldemort could not find a way to read the journal, then, assuming she ever got her hands on it, there was no way she would be able to obtain the secrets she needed to save James.

"Well?" he demanded after a moment, his voice harsher and more impatient than she'd heard it yet. "Tell me, Lily, how to break your master's code."

There was a pause, and then—

"No," she said hoarsely.

His anger flared in his eyes for a fraction of a second, but by the next, he had it under control again. "Oh, Lily," he whispered, "will you never learn?" He shook his head slowly. "There is nothing—nothing—to stand between you and me. I am the most powerful wizard who ever lived: do you really believe that I won't be able to break you?"

He gave his wand a lazy wave, and suddenly, Lily found herself plummeting towards the floor. She screamed, twisting in the air, sure she was going to die, but she halted abruptly just before she hit the marble. The spell released her, and she tumbled the last foot, collapsing as her trembling legs gave way beneath her. She was unharmed, but her nerves were nearly shattered. She stayed where she was: kneeling, hunched over, her hair falling over her face, breathing hard and erratically.

The fiery lines of the skull faded as Voldemort approached her, his footsteps drawing near like a threatening omen. She didn't look up, trying to regain control of her fluttering heartbeat. She felt—more than she heard or saw, she felt—him moving around her, standing in front of her, halting as he surveyed her coolly. Suddenly her chin was cupped in his long, slender fingers, and he forced her head up so that their eyes met.

"You know you will never get the journal from me," he hissed, his gray eyes boring into hers, "and you know that I will crack the cipher eventually. The only thing you have to gain from your silence is pain."

She tried to turn her face away, but he held it tightly. "I can't tell you," she whispered.

"Can you not?" he said softly. "Well, then, you leave me with no choice." He ran his fingers along his wand, turning away from her momentarily. She looked down at the floor, bracing herself. This was what she had been dreading—

Spasms of white-hot pain shot through her body. A sob tore itself from her throat as her back arched and her hands shook. She thought she would lose her mind if it lasted a split second longer.

The Cruciatus Curse released her, and she lay moaning on the cold, stone floor. Voldemort walked slowly around her. "Are you ready to tell me yet?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know his cipher. He never taught it to me."

He seemed genuinely surprised, as though he read the truth in her eyes but could not believe it. "If you are lying to me, Lily Evans," he hissed, "you will suffer more than you ever believed possible."

"I'm not lying," she choked, feeling her tears trace rivulets of sorrow down her cheeks. "I have no idea how to read the journal."

"Very well," he said coldly, and once again her chin was in his hands, forcing eye contact. This time, there was no pain, but suddenly, her vision dissolved, and she was watching scenes that were not happening—scenes that had happened long ago—scenes that she recognized a moment later as her memories.

He had broken into her mind.

There was the yellow envelope with the Hogwarts crest on it, borne by a tawny owl. There was Petunia, scolding her for some wrong she had committed. There was seventeen-year-old James, covered in ink, grinning sheepishly at her in the Gryffindor common room. There was Remus, on the day towards the end of their seventh year when they had told her that he was a werewolf. There was Caradoc, staring intently at a seemingly empty cauldron.

This one seemed to last longer than the others, as though Voldemort were holding on to it in order to examine it. Finally, though, the image disintegrated, and there was Sirius, standing proudly beside his new motorbike. There was James, a scarlet steam engine behind him, and suddenly, she was drawing near him, her arms were around his neck, and he was kissing her.

_No,_ she thought desperately, _this is _mine. _You can't be watching it…_

But it changed just as swiftly into the most recent memory yet—she was sitting against the door in her dark apartment, a letter from Dumbledore announcing her teacher's death in her hands. James was talking to her, locked outside, pleading with her to understand. Then Sirius was there, telling him that it was time to go, and James was asking for just one moment more.

Everything else was a blur, but one phrase jumped out at her.

"_I'm not fighting for the world, Lily; I'm fighting for _you."

After another moment, Voldemort seemed to have found what he was looking for. Lily felt his probing presence withdraw from her mind, leaving her to her gasping, wracking breaths. _James, _she thought desperately, _oh, James, I'm so, so sorry…_

"Well, Lily," the Dark Lord said, stepping away, "you surprise me. I would have thought that the alchemist would be eager to share all of his secrets with his apprentice."

Sorry that I didn't stop you— 

He moved towards her again, a cunning malice sparking in his eyes.

—_sorry that I couldn't save you. _

"So even if I gave you this," he said softly, holding up the journal, "you couldn't use it." He began to walk in slow circles around her. "James is dying, isn't he," he whispered.

Hard as she tried, she could not keep her sobs from redoubling.

"And you've failed to retrieve the only thing that has any chance of saving him."

_Failed…_

"What a tragedy," he continued. "He won't even live to see his wedding day."

_Tragedy…_

"Because you couldn't save him."

Couldn't… 

"What if…" he began slowly, "what if I gave you the secrets you need?"

Lily's head snapped up. She knew she couldn't let herself believe him, knew that he was a vile snake, but in spite of her efforts to extinguish it, a bright flame of hope had leapt up within her heart at Voldemort's words. "You… you wouldn't," she whispered, her lips trembling. "I know you. You would promise it and then stab me in the back the first chance you got."

He let out a cold laugh. "Lily, I could kill you now if I wanted to: you are completely at my mercy. You have nothing to lose by listening to me."

She forced herself to meet his gaze. "What exactly are you offering?"

He halted in front of her. "Somewhere in this journal," he said softly, "are the instructions to make a potion that would keep James from death. I am willing to give them to you, free of charge, and let you out of here."

"They won't do me any good," she muttered. "I can't read them."

"Don't you see, Lily?" he whispered. "You can help me. Together we can break the cipher. I need you—your knowledge of your late mentor—to read this journal, and you need me to give you what you seek. Help me, and I will reward you."

"I can't," she muttered, averting her eyes, still trying to quell the hope rising inside of her. "I can't trust you."

"Can't trust me?"

"You'll betray me!" she spat, pouring what vehemence as she had left into her words—not because it would hurt him, but because it might convince her to believe in her own words. "I'll help you and then you'll have no need for me, so you'll murder me like you did Caradoc!"

"Here," Voldemort said, stepping forward and offering her the journal.

Her breath caught in her throat, and suddenly she found it hard to focus through her tears. Here was the object of her quest, the reason she had come—right here, before her. "What are you doing?" she demanded hoarsely.

"As a token of my trust," he said quietly. "You can have the journal. It's yours. Now our situations are reversed. You can leave now, without anybody harming you, but that book won't help you save your fiancé unless you know what it says. I will help you break that cipher if, when we're done, you promise to let me have it back just long enough to copy it. See? Now you're the one calling the shots."

"Except that you can kill me whenever you feel the slightest inclination," she whispered.

He shrugged. "Take it or leave it."

Hand trembling, Lily reached out to take the journal. Her fingers halted tremulously for a moment, hesitating for the barest breadth of a second, and then they made the final lunge, closing around the cool leather.

Voldemort's piercing eyes gleamed. "Do we have a bargain?"

She closed her eyes, self-hatred exploding through her soul. Forcing down a lump in her throat, she whispered, "Yes."

"Shake on it," he commanded, extending his hand.

Lily's bright green eyes came up to meet his. The shaking hand not clutching the journal moved towards Voldemort's outstretched one, and, forcing herself to think only of James, she grasped it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Lauren:** Once again, Juneaua's chaotic life is catching up to her, and she has once again made the difficult decision to stop writing fanfiction. She says it's for real now, which means she might be out one or two chapters longer than she was last time. If I know her, she won't be able to stay away—she can't help it. (**Juneaua: **Lies. All lies.) Give it two chapters, and she'll be begging me to let her write again. (**Juneaua: **Gah! I hate it when you're right.) As for me, I'm squirming in my chair with excitement: I'm thrilled that I get to do this part. 

Before them stood five menacing figures: masked, black-cloaked, and hooded, they seemed to Lily like some threatening omen. They had been called—summoned by the Dark Lord to do his bidding. Lily was sure that this moment would be the subject of many nightmares in years to come. She stood behind Voldemort, arms wrapped around herself, the journal still clutched tightly in her hand. The stars that had been visible through the dome overhead seemed to have flickered and died out, shedding none of their comforting light on the cold, marble room below.

As Voldemort walked before them, each in turn bowed low in a gesture of reverence. He surveyed them silently for a moment before he spoke. "I have found the key," he said softly, "that is needed to complete the task that I laid before you two nights ago." He turned slightly and beckoned to Lily, who took a nervous step forward. She shuddered as his slim, cold fingers wrapped around her upper arm. "Lily Evans was the missing piece; she will help you attain your goal."

Some of them exchanged surprised glances, but they said nothing.

"However," Voldemort continued, "Contrary to what I told you before, I have judged this undertaking to be of sufficient consequence to lead it myself."

There was silence for a moment before one of the Death Eaters bowed low. "Thank you, Lord, for deeming me worthy to assist in a mission lead by you."

The others all murmured gratitude as well. Lily started; one of the voices was strikingly familiar. She was sure she had heard it before, but she could not place it. It was driven from her mind, however, when Voldemort addressed her.

"Your mentor's cipher is unbreakable without the aid of a very unique magical instrument," he said quietly. "It is called a Nexus. Albus Dumbledore has managed to keep its whereabouts a secret for several months, but nothing can hide from me when I am determined to find it. Tonight, we shall retrieve it."

"Then why do you need me?" she demanded. "What good will I do you?"

His lip curled. "The Nexus's guardians will trust you."

Lily felt a spark of anger flare inside of her. "I'm not going to betray anyone," she spat.

He shrugged, the malicious smile still haunting his lips. "A steep price must be paid for love."

"No," she said, taking a step backwards. "No. I won't—I can't."

He raised his eyebrows. "Very well," he said indifferently, turning away. "But that journal cannot be read without the Nexus. You're free to go."

Lily stood there, trembling, her white, bloodless fingers clasped around the journal in her hand. Voldemort was walking away—and with him was her only chance of saving James.

"Wait!"

He turned.

"Will—will you promise not to hurt them? The people guarding the Nexus?"

He raised an arm solemnly. "On my honor."

Lily swallowed hard, and then, slowly, she nodded her head.

He crossed to her and grasped her wrist. She inhaled sharply, afraid he would hurt her, but he simply turned to his Death Eaters and said, "You all know where you are to Apparate to?"

There was a murmur of, "Yes, Master."

"Excellent. Let's go. Remember the punishment for failure."

Voldemort's grip on her wrist tightened, and suddenly she felt the suffocating tightness of Apparition engulf her. There were a few moments when she could neither breathe nor see, and then her surroundings solidified around her.

She was standing on one side of a gravel road, surrounded by miles of countryside. Only one imposing house about a quarter of a mile down the road stood out as a black silhouette against the eastern sky, which was getting slowly lighter.

"That is the location of the Nexus," Voldemort whispered, "or at least of the people who know where it is. Tell them that Dumbledore sent you to bring it to him." He reached into his robes and pulled out a thin, golden chain with a small medallion dangling from it. "Wear this," he commanded, clasping it around her neck. "As long as it's on, I'll be able to see and hear everything in the room you're in. That way I'll know if anything goes wrong or unexpectedly… or if you decide to turn on me."

Lily shuddered.

"Don't try anything," he warned. "I have five wizards stationed at various points around the house, and if anything sounds suspicious, we will come in, and you will not come out… not alive."

Lily's hand clutched more tightly around the journal.

"Go," he commanded. "Save your fiancé."

_James, _she thought desperately. _I'm doing it for James. I would do anything for James._

Slowly, she walked towards the house.

As she drew nearer, she realized that the building was more than big enough deserve the word _mansion: _an ancient-looking estate surrounded by a tall, iron fence and several acres of land. Its gables towered four stories over the ground, and there must have been forty windows in the front face alone. The road led directly up to the wrought iron gate.

Slowly, Lily approached it, peering inside. She leaned her burning forehead against the cool bars.

"Can I help you?"

Lily uttered a soft scream and jumped away from the gate. Directly in the middle was the engraving of a face, which yawned tiredly and blinked up at her. When she continued to gape at it, it repeated its question. "Can I help you?"

"Er…" she muttered awkwardly, "I want to go in."

"What's you're name?" it asked.

"Lily… Lily Evans."

"Hold it a moment. I'll ask."

Suddenly the circle on which the face had been was blank, the engraving gone. Lily blinked. A moment later it was back.

"I am permitted to let you pass," it informed her sagely, and suddenly the large gates swung open.

Anxiety twisting a knot in her stomach, Lily advanced up the walkway towards the large glass front doors. Drawing a deep breath, she pressed the doorbell in.

A minute later, a dark form appeared behind the doors. It seemed to be fiddling with a lock, and then it opened.

Lily knew the man who stood there. They had met when James and first convinced her to join the Order. He and his brother were very well respected members; they were renowned powerful wizards and top-of-the-line aurors. Their names were Gideon and Fabian Prewett.

Gideon was a lean man of middle-height and middle age. His tawny-red hair was gray at the temples, and his gentle, brown eyes had crows' feet at the corners, indicating the usual presence of an amiable smile. Now he wore a perplexed expression, but he beckoned her inside warmly—_trustingly,_ she noticed with a stab of anguish.

_Think about James…_

Glancing over her shoulder uneasily, knowing that somewhere out there six Death Eaters waited, she stepped inside. Her weary feet stumbled on the threshold, and she felt her host's strong arms catch her. "Easy, Lily, careful… good lord, you're as pale as death! Shaking all over, too—what on earth happened? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she mumbled, finding her feet and avoiding his gaze. His eyebrows narrowed doubtfully, but he said nothing, guiding her from the hall towards the parlor that adjoined it. She tried to refuse his help, but he firmly insisted, and inwardly, she was glad.

When she remembered, however, what she was here to do, she wanted to recoil, knowing she was unworthy of his kind touch. She had never hated herself more than she did now. She felt filthy, as though her presence would stain her friendly surroundings. She wanted to scream that she was here to get the Nexus for the Dark Lord, tell him that she should be imprisoned for the rest of her life, but—

_James… remember James…_

He put her in a chair beside the fire and called for his house elf, who bustled in with a steaming mug of tea. He offered it to Lily, who took it but did not drink. He pulled a chair up so that he was sitting directly opposite her. Setting his own tea down on an end table, he leaned forward.

"What's happening?"

"Nothing… nothing bad. I'm fine."

He stood abruptly and turned to face the fire. Speaking almost more to the flames than to her, he said, "You show up on my doorstep, pale and shaking, unexplained and uninvited—not that I mind you being here—lord, no—but you can't possibly expect me to believe that you came all the way here just for a cup of tea that you're not even drinking?"

Lily forced herself to take a sip.

The door opened at that moment and another man popped his head in. "Oh, I thought I'd heard someone come in—Lily Evans, isn't it?" His brow furrowed. "Are you here for the Order?"

This was Fabian: slightly taller and slightly younger than his brother and with brown hair instead of red, but in all other respects almost identical. He came in and sat on the sofa, looking expectantly between Lily and his brother. The latter turned his own eyes on his guest. "You can trust me, Lily—tell me what it is."

_You shouldn't trust me,_ Lily wanted to scream. Instead, she cleared her throat. "I don't know how much you've heard, but I'll start from the beginning. A few days ago, Caradoc Dearborn was murdered by… by You-Know-Who."

"Yes," they said simultaneously.

"Caradoc wrote everything in a cipher that was only known to him. We can't break it."

"So why have you come here?" Gideon asked, sitting down again.

Lily drew a deep breath. "Professor Dumbledore sent me to get the Nexus."

The brothers exchanged glances. After a moment of silence, in which unspoken words seemed to pass between them, Fabian stood up. "I'll go get it. I'll be back in a moment."

There were a few long minutes of awkward silence before he returned, a small wooden chest under one arm. There was no lock on it, but there were ancient runes inscribed around the edges. Lily had only ever read about these; rune spells were supposed to be incredibly hard to cast and even harder to break. As Fabian set it on the table, Gideon stood up and retrieved his cloak from a coat rack in the corner, tossing another cloak to his brother.

Lily blinked, looking between them. "Wh—what are you doing?" she stammered.

"Taking it to Dumbledore," Fabian answered, smiling.

She felt here stomach lurch. "He—he wanted me to take it."

"We can't have you wandering about alone this early in the morning—look at the state you're in. You look about to faint."

"No, it's fine, really," Lily insisted.

"We're coming with you to take it to Dumbledore," Gideon said firmly, a strange glint in his eye as he picked up the chest. "Are you coming?"

"No, wait—" Lily said desperately "—I don't need help, it's not far—I only have to Apparate to just outside of Hogwarts—"

"If Dumbledore wants it, we can deliver it as easily as you can," Fabian said, walking towards her and laying a hand on her shoulder. "In fact, staying here would do you more good, I think. We can put you up in a guest room if you like—some sleep would help you get over the shock of Caradoc's death. You were studying alchemy with him, weren't you? You'll end up splinching yourself if you try to Apparate as tired as you are."

"No—" Lily gasped, "no, let me take it, I'll be fine, honest…"

It was turning into a disaster. Not only would they discover her falsehood if they took the Nexus to Dumbledore, who would say that he had never sent her, but also… Voldemort had promised to interfere in case of something like this.

"I think," Gideon said softly, approaching her as well, "that Lily's lying."

Suddenly Lily found her hands twisted behind her back and her knees forced out from under her. She heard Gideon's quiet, gentle voice in her ear. "I don't want to hurt you, Lily, so please don't struggle." She felt her wand tugged out of her right hand and the journal out of her left. Fabian placed both of them on a coffee table between the couches, far out of her reach.

She started to cry silently. Gideon's grip didn't hurt her, nor did Fabian's touch as he patted her down for anything that might be a weapon—no, her pain went a thousand times deeper than that—it was shame and guilt and helplessness. She had tried to lie to them, and it was tearing her apart.

"What's going on, Lily Evans?" Gideon's voice was no louder than it had been before, but it had a coldness and a demanding intensity to it that made her heart wrench. "The truth this time, if you please."

Lily tried to talk, tried to tell them everything, but she could not force the words past the lump in her throat.

Fabian started slowly circling them. "Why would Dumbledore send a young woman who is hardly in a state to retrieve and protect a priceless tool—a woman who isn't even very involved in the Order? Why would he send anybody without the password we had agreed upon before—the only word that could make us relinquish the Nexus to someone else? Why would he not have told me of this when I talked to him through the Floo Network barely more than a quarter of an hour ago?"

Now Lily didn't even try to speak. How could she explain? What excuse could she give? All she could do was stare at the floor, unable to say anything.

"The question I want to know the answer to," Gideon said quietly, and the disappointment in his voice bit deep into her soul, "is, when did Lily Evans—head girl at Hogwarts, fiancé of the unconquerable James Potter, the woman I thought would do anything to defend what's right and honorable—abandon reason for madness?"

The silence echoed deafeningly for a few moments in Lily's ears, screaming at her, reminding her what she had done. Fabian opened his mouth as though to speak, but before he managed to say anything, there was a loud _bang! _

Death Eaters began appearing around them. Before Fabian even had time to draw his wand, he was blasted against the wall; Lily screamed as Gideon pulled her to the floor to avoid several spells that went whooshing past. He hit the ground and rolled, springing up a moment later with his wand in hand. Lily scrambled towards the coffee table and snatched up her own wand, seizing the journal as well and stuffing it into her jacket pocket. As soon as she had a tight grip on her wand, she whirled around.

Gideon was backed up against the fireplace, facing two Death Eaters. They were too close to each other for wands to be very practical, and it had almost dissolved into a full-on wrestling match. One of the men had locked his opponent in a stranglehold, but to no avail; Gideon threw him off and ducked under a blow from the second. The first, however, managed to latch onto his arm, and the other man took advantage of his momentary distraction to wrap Gideon into a headlock. It looked as though they had won, but a moment later, Gideon's foot went into the fireplace and kicked the burning embers at them. One yelped and the other fell over backwards, and Gideon jumped free, leaping over the coffee table to get far enough away to use his wand. His first spell was halfway out of his mouth when one of the other Death Eaters yelled in a voice that cut sharply across the noise, "Drop your wand!"

Gideon halted mid-spell, and his eyes found the source of the command. One of the Death Eaters was standing there, arm wrapped around Fabian's neck and wand pointed directly at his chest. Silence fell like the plague.

"Make one move," the Death Eater growled, "and your dear brother is dead."

Fabian was barely conscious, face screwed up against the pain. His clothing was bloody, and a long gash in his shirt revealed that several ribs had broken and pierced his skin. The Death Eater who held him helpless had lost his mask; he was young, and he had a leering, unpleasant face and heavily-pockmarked skin. Lily recognized him from school, where he had been four years ahead of her. It was Antonin Dolohov.

Gideon was breathing hard, and suddenly he didn't look like a cool-headed, quick-thinking auror anymore; the expression in his eyes was one of horror. Suddenly he had to choose whether to keep fighting or to sacrifice his only means of defense, and his brother's life was what hung in the balance No amount of training or experience could have prepared him for that.

Several seconds passed with eternities in between them, time seemingly frozen. Then, slowly, Gideon lowered his wand to his side and let it fall to the floor.

Immediately, two Death Eaters stepped forward and seized his arms, wrenching them behind his back and holding them tightly. He put up no struggle, staring unseeingly at the fire as though shocked by what he had just done. Dolohov let Fabian's limp form fall to the floor and strode to where Gideon was now captive, picking up his wand and snapping it in half.

"Very good, very good," chuckled a cold voice. Lily whirled around; from the shadows behind her emerged a tall, dark figure, whose hood, when lowered, revealed a long, pale face, dark eyes, and a malevolent smile. Lord Voldemort had not failed in his promise; he had intervened.

His eyes swept over Gideon and Fabian, rested on the chest containing the Nexus for a moment, and then fixed on Lily. "This wasn't quite how I'd planned it, but it seems to have worked just as well—you have procured the Nexus, which was the only real object of this mission. Well done, Miss Evans."

Every sense of goodness, honor, and compassion she had nearly forced her to her knees in shame, but she quelled them with tremendous effort. _I'm coming, James… just a few more hours… _

Voldemort crossed to the chest, picked it up almost reverently, and examined the runes with an unreadable expression on his face. After a moment, he carefully put it back down and turned his wand on Gideon. "What's the keyword?"

The keyword, Lily knew, was the only thing that could get past the ancient runes. Much like the Fidelius Charm, the runes had a sort of Secret Keeper who was the only one with the authority to tell the word or phrase to others. Unless she was very much mistaken, that person would be Albus Dumbledore.

Gideon surveyed the wand indifferently, his mouth remaining firmly closed.

Voldemort drew nearer, his wrath showing in his eyes. He jabbed the wand tip into his captive's chest and said in a deadly quiet voice, "Tell me the keyword, or I will make you regret this night."

"You'll have to do better than that," Gideon said softly. "Members of the Order cannot be broken that easily."

Voldemort's lip curled into a smile, and he looked very pointedly at Lily, who cringed under his gaze. Gideon glanced in her direction, and his expression changed from passive unconcern to unconcealed contempt.

"You gloat over your prize," Gideon hissed, "and yet by what means did you obtain it? You preyed on her fears, sucked them in and used them against her. It's not something to be proud of. What did you promise her? That you would heal James Potter? What woman would not sell her soul to the devil to save someone she loves? She may have chosen wrong, but her choice shows that she has compassion and courage far beyond any that you could possibly comprehend."

Voldemort seemed mildly amused by this speech, but it struck Lily and sent shivering spasms through her body. Her throat tightened, but she was beyond tears, almost numb to the pain. She stood, trembling, as he turned his attention entirely to her. "Lily Evans," he said softly, speaking so entirely for her that it seemed they were the only two in the room, "you know the difference between right and wrong. You know that this is below you. This man who calls himself Voldemort is not worthy to kiss your feet." There were angry growls from some of the Death Eaters, but Voldemort raised a hand that held their wrath in check. "You are infinitely superior to him—perhaps not in knowledge or in power—but in empathy. Your love for James exceeds your concern for your own welfare—an admirable trait—but it has made you blind. The Dark Lord has no sense of honor to bind him to his promises; he will betray you as it suits him. Besides, James Potter would sooner die than let you buy his life from the Dark Lord. He would be ashamed, Lily."

Time seemed to halt as the weight of his accusations crashed over her like a tumbling wave. _James. James would be ashamed._ She felt the heat of the flames burning in the fireplace on the backs of her calves, and it seemed to her like the searing flame of hell. _He would think his life but a half life, a cursed life, were he indebted to Voldemort for it._ The Dark Lord had returned his attention to the chest and to Gideon, and he seemed determined to get the keyword.

_James, I'm so, so sorry._

If Voldemort found a way to read the journal that she still held clutched in her hand, he would find a way to make the Sorcerer's Stone—and the Elixir of Life. Suddenly, he would be undefeatable: immortal and omnipotent. Lily thought hopelessly of the desperate state the wizarding world was already in, and the prospect of an immortal Voldemort brought her near despair. She could not let him read that journal.

But she needed to read it herself. She _needed _to know how to make the Elixir that would save James._ He won't be obliged to Voldemort if I make sure Voldemort doesn't get a chance to read it…_ She couldn't live her life without him.

_I can't face eternity alone._

It didn't take her long to realize that there was no way she would get the Nexus. Now that Voldemort had it in his possession, he would not easily relinquish it, and she would be no match for him if she tried to fight for it. He had promised to let her use it to read the journal, but only on the condition that she allowed him to read it in turn. _What's to keep him from killing me? _she asked herself in despair. _I've helped him get the Nexus, and now there's no reason for him to keep me around._

_But while there's the smallest chance that I'll walk out of here alive, there's still a chance that I can save James. You can't give up now, Lily. Not now._

She turned her attention back to Gideon and Voldemort. The latter's rage was showing clearly on his face, but Gideon seemed supremely unaffected by the wand jabbing into his chest.

"It won't do you any good to try to force it out of me," he said quietly. "I'm not the one with the authority to tell you the keyword."

"Then open it for me," Voldemort snarled. "Open it now."

Gideon didn't answer, and the Dark Lord's patience snapped. "Then you will feel the pain of my displeasure," he hissed. His wand tip flared, and suddenly Gideon was jerking wildly in his captors' grasps, his muscles wracked with painful spasms, as the Cruciatus Curse tore through his body.

Lily watched in horror as, instead of letting up after a few moments, Voldemort let it continue with a cruel smile. A sob tore itself from her throat, but nobody paid her any heed. Twenty seconds… thirty… forty…

And as she watched, fascinated and appalled, it all became suddenly, horribly clear to her. She had a choice to make. If she kept the journal, there was a slight chance she would somehow be able to read it and find the instructions for a potion that would save her beloved James. But if she kept it, there was also a bigger probability that Voldemort would get it. As she watched Voldemort lift the spell and Gideon crumple to the floor, she pictured everyone she knew and loved subjected to the Dark Lord's tyranny: Frank and Alice Longbottom, just barely married blissful in their union, Andromeda Black, Sirius's cousin, Molly and Arthur Weasley and their five beautiful boys, Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore, Peter and Remus and Sirius—and, if she managed to save him—James.

The journal might save James, but look at what I'd be sacrificing in return… 

The only way to put it out of Voldemort's reach was to put it where no one, not even she, would be able to reclaim it.

The scorching flames behind her were making her legs itch unbearably. She turned, as though in a trance, and the bright orange and yellow against the black fireplace seared itself into her memory. Her hands, one closed over her wand and the other over the journal, were both white and trembling, but no longer from fear. She was hoping, asking, praying, for the courage to do what she knew she had to do.

No one was paying attention to her; all eyes were riveted on Gideon, half-unconscious on the floor. It seemed to her for a moment as though the flames took on Voldemort's face, laughing at her, daring her, taunting her: _do it, Lily Evans, I dare you!_

Her hand, clutching the journal as though it were her lifeblood, reached out over the fireplace.

Her mind flashed to the first time she had seen James after his and Sirius's escapade to Voldemort's manor—pale, cold, and lifeless. Suddenly, she couldn't do it—she didn't have the heart—her courage failed her. _James, I can't let you go…_

Voldemort's face was back, and he had a condescending sneer on his lips. _I knew you couldn't do it. You're weak, girl. Pitiful, feeble, pathetic… _

At his taunt, the one last spark of her bravery that had not yet been killed flared up within her. She glared defiantly back at the face. "I'm not weak," she whispered. "The world needs me more than James does."

The journal tumbled from her hand.

She could have snatched it back up before it had burned much at all, knowing that she was sacrificing her only means of saving James. But she staid her hand, holding it back and watching with baited breath.

The pages of the journal curled and blackened as the flames ate their way through them.

She wanted to cry, but there were no tears left. She felt empty, cold, lost… but there was hope yet.

Voldemort would never read the journal.


	13. Chapter 13

**Lauren: **Hey, me again. The first draft of this chapter was rolled out a while ago, but it was in undeniable need of some editing and rewriting. That took Juneaua a while (we'll forgive her, seeing as she's involved in... what? Three musicals? A play? Thirteen AP/IB classes? I can't remember, but whatever it is, she's been a tad bit busy), and so it only just got done for real. Thanks for sticking with it, even though updates aren't exactly regular. Don't forget to review! 

Lily turned around, away from the fire where the journal's secrets were blackening into ashes. Gideon was staring at her, fierce approval gleaming in his eyes. He alone in the room had seen what she had done, and he understood.

"Open the chest," Voldemort commanded, "and I will spare you a very painful death."

After another glance at Lily, closed his eyes. "Alright," he groaned, the picture of defeat. "I'll open it."

The Dark Lord's expression was eager and expectant, now that the Nexus was finally within his grasp. Lily's throat tightened as she wondered what he would do when he realized that it was now useless to him. Gideon stood tremulously on shaking legs, crossed to the chest, and knelt beside it. He placed all ten of his fingers against the lid and muttered, "_Ðonae wudu weardaþ wundrum fæger fugel feþrum se is fenix hatan_."

The runes on the chest all glowed a radiant blue momentarily, and then they faded into darkness. There was a soft click, and the lid sprang open under his touch.

One of the Death Eaters quickly stepped forward, seized his shoulders, and yanked him away from the chest. Voldemort approached it, malicious and triumphant. His long, narrow fingers reached inside and pulled out the Nexus.

It was small, no larger than his hand, shaped like a pair of eyeglasses—except that instead of lenses, there were two white, translucent stones. Eyes shining with excitement, Voldemort raised his head to look at Lily, who felt a tremor run through her.

His eyes narrowed. "Give me the journal," he demanded harshly.

She did not move.

"Give me the journal," he repeated softly, taking a few steps towards her.

Lily straightened here back and lifted her chin defiantly. Fear had fled; knowing that death was imminent calmed rather than terrified her. The dread that had encompassed her the entire night was slipping away, and courage was replacing it.

Voldemort's eyes traveled over her, searching for the journal, and they fixed on her hands—clutching only her wand. "Where is it?" he asked venomously his eyes flashing.

"Gone," she spat boldly, "gone where you will never be able to regain it."

"_What do you mean?_" he hissed.

Lily stepped aside, revealing the fire to his full view. The pages were all but gone, but part of the green leather cover could still be seen, curling in the flames.

Voldemort let out a howl of rage. He leapt to the fireplace and snatched what was left of the journal out. It was too late: the charred pages that had not disintegrated into ash were too black to read. Eyes blazing, he turned on Lily.

"Traitorous mudblood," he hissed.

Lily gave a choking gasp; his fingers were suddenly wrapped around her throat. Her wand fell to the floor, and she clawed at his hands, but to no avail. His enraged face was barely inches from his as she felt her limbs begin to weaken and her vision dissolve.

"You will die, Lily Evans," he said furiously, slamming her into the wall, "and after I kill you, everyone you love will die as well. First James Potter, then your parents, then your friends…"

Gideon was bellowing, but his captors' strong hands held him powerless to do anything, and despite all of his struggles, he could not break free. Lily felt her consciousness slipping through her fingers, and she knew that if she let it go, she would never awake.

But then the hands released her. She collapsed to the floor, air rushing in to her stinging lungs. Her vision was returning, and the pounding of blood receded from her ears.

Voldemort had turned his back on her and was approaching Gideon angrily. "What did you say?" he demanded.

"That's not the real Nexus," Gideon spat. "It's a fake, one that we kept just in case of something like this."

Voldemort's wand was trained on him now, giving Lily a chance to recover from his attack.

"Tell me where it is," he hissed, "or you will die as surely as your mudblood friend will."

Gideon shook his head. "When will you learn," he whispered, "that there are things worse than death?"

Voldemort's wand tip moved to point at Fabian, unconscious on the floor near the wall. "Very well," he said furiously. "It's too late for you. But reveal the location, and I will spare your brother."

"We are men of action," Gideon answered quietly. "Lies do not become us."

Voldemort's anger exploded. His face contorted, and the spell that issued from his mouth was like the crack of a whip.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

Lily screamed as a bolt of light struck the unconscious Fabian in the chest. Gideon's face blanched as he looked at his brother's lifeless form, but he did not flinch as Voldemort turned his wand on him.

Lily was staring at Fabian, hoping, praying, for some sort of movement that would indicate life, but none came. He was still.

"Dawn is not far off," Voldemort leered, breathing hard and seeming to relish the murder he had just committed. It was true; the first gray light of sunset was beginning to illuminate the room. "But dawn will not help you, I fear."

Lily's heart was beating wildly in her chest. She tried to move, to intervene, to help him, but her limbs would not obey her command. She could only watch helplessly as Gideon stood in his last noble act of defiance. "Yet dawn is ever the hope of men."

He neither cowered nor cringed as Voldemort opened his mouth to utter the spell. He stood tall, looked his opponent straight in the eye, and smiled grimly. True to the last, Gideon Prewett met his death serene and unflinching.

Lily felt her throat constrict and her vision blur as his body fell to the ground. A horrible feeling welled up inside her; _This is all my fault, _she thought, a sickening lurch gripping her stomach, _I led Voldemort here._

_It's my fault…_

The Dark Lord was moving swiftly. "Come," he said, beckoning to his Death Eaters to follow him. "The real Nexus is an invaluable tool. It lies somewhere in this house."

He let the false onefall to the carpeted floor. Lily began to hope that she had been forgotten, but at the threshold, he turned.

"You—and you," he said harshly, designating two of his Death Eaters, "stay here and watch this snake. If she tries anything, punish her in any way you wish." He turned to address Lily. "You have not escaped my wrath," he hissed vehemently, and his lips curled into a callous smile. "You will get every moment of pain that you deserve when I return."

With that, he and the other three Death Eaters swept out of the room.

One of the ones he had left kicked the sofa viciously. "I always get put on guard duty," he complained angrily. "He never trusts me with anything harder."

The other Death Eater did not answer. He was standing in the corner, where the light of the fire hardly reached, and only his pale mask was distinctly visible. His face was turned towards Lily, and though she could not see his features, she shuddered under his gaze.

There were several long minutes of silence; the first Death Eater fingered the ornaments on the mantelpiece, paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, picked his teeth with his fingernail, and muttered darkly to himself. The other one simply stood there, gazing at Lily.

She tried to avoid looking at the Prewetts' bodies and at the Death Eater whose unshakable gaze unnerved her. Her eyes fell instead on the coffee table in the middle of the room.

Beside it lay her wand.

She was against the wall beside the fireplace, not ten feet from her only means of escape. One Death Eater was lounging lazily on the sofa, and the other was on the opposite side of the room—surely she could get to it before they had time to react?

She didn't give herself time to think. She lunged for her wand, snatched it up, and pointed it at the man on the couch.

It seemed, however, that he was more alert than he appeared. Her spell was not halfway out of her mouth before his own hit her, blasting her against the wall. She felt her head slam into the wood paneling, and stars erupted in her vision. The breath was knocked from her chest, and while she was gasping for breath, the Death Eater pinned her against the wall.

"Thought you could attack me and hope to escape?" he demanded. "I'll show you—_Cruci—_"

But he halted mid-spell. A dazed expression slid across his face, and before Lily registered what was happening, he had toppled to the floor.

Behind him stood the second Death Eater, his mask torn off and dangling from his hand, his black-clad chest heaving, his wand pointed directly at his companion.

Lily's eyes widened, and suddenly she realized why she had recognized one of the voices back when she had first seen the Death Eaters in Voldemort's manor.

"Sev," she whispered.

The young man before her was thin and pale, with long, greasy, black hair and dark eyes that were full of an immeasurable pain and longing.

"Go, Lily," he said hoarsely, "before I change my mind."

"Wh—what?"

"I said go," he growled, and now his wand came up from his stunned companion to point at her.

"Severus," she whispered weakly, "what are you doing here?" She took a step towards him. "You—you've joined _him._"

He swallowed hard. "Go, Lily," he pleaded.

A thousand emotions reverberated through her head—confusion, anger, sorrow, affection—but she pushed them back down. She snatched up her wand from where she had dropped it and backed towards the door to the entryway, unable to tear her eyes off of him.

"Go," he whispered.

"Sev," she murmured, wanting to say something but not knowing how. What _could _she say? They had nothing common, not anymore. But the agonized look in those eyes tore at her heart…

"Stun me," he whispered, "so it won't look like I helped you."

"I can't leave," she said. "I can't leave you here. You were my friend once, Sev—I can't abandon you to Voldemort like this."

He flinched at the sound of the Dark Lord's name, but he held his ground. "Please, just go," he implored.

"Come with me."

"I can't.'

"Why not?"

"He'll kill me."

"We can hide you."

"There's another reason," he whispered.

"What is it?"

Slowly, he crossed to her and reached for her left hand. He caressed it gently for a moment, and then his other hand came up and softly touched the engagement ring on her finger.

"That's why," he whispered in anguish.

"Oh, Sev," she murmured, "surely you can forgive him by now? He's not the hotheaded teenager he was in school."

"As long as you love him," he whispered, "I can never forgive him."

Lily shook her head sadly. "Sev, your life will be miserable if you can't learn to move on. You're doomed to years of unhappiness unless you figure out how to forgive and forget."

"I want him to die, Lily!" he cried, and she tried to recoil from his touch, but he held tight to her hand, "I want him to die, but his death would devastate you—"

"Severus—"

"I wouldn't even save my own life if it meant hurting you."

"He _is_ going to die!" she shrieked, jerking her hand away from his as though his touch burned her. "He's going to die, alright? He doesn't need your help with that—he was hit with a spell that's left him about two days to live, and it's like he's in a coma! Does that make you happy? He's going to _die!_"

"No," Severus said quietly. "He won't."

"Yes, he will! That journal that I threw in the fire—that's the only way I have of saving him, and it's gone! Don't you see? He's going to—"

"The spell that he was hit with," he interrupted, cutting across her hysterical tirade, "is one that I invented. I taught it to the others."

Lily stopped short.

"I invented it," he continued, "and I invented a countercurse."

Suddenly her heart had leapt into her throat, and it was very hard to breathe past it. 

His eyes were filled with tears of anguish, but he continued in a halting voice. "I'm the only one who knows it."

"What is it, Sev?"

He was silent for a long moment.

"Kiss me," he whispered.

Her eyes met his, and she shook her head. "I can't. I'm going to marry James."

"I swear I'll never ask it again. This is all I want, Lily, please. I can save your fiancé, and this is all I ask in return."

"Sev, you know I can't. I can't betray—"

"_Finimuerte_," he muttered.

"What?"

"That's the countercurse. _Finimuerte_."

"_Finimuerte?_"

"Yes."

She had thought there were no more tears left, but she felt them blurring her vision once more. Putting her arms around his neck, she leaned in and gently kissed his cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered into his ear. "Thank you, Sev. You've got some decency in you yet."

"I love you, Lily Evans."

"You're one of the best friends I've ever had."

"Lily…."

"Thank you," she said again. "I'll never forget this. Never."

"Go," he whispered.

Without taking her eyes off of him, she started backing towards the door.

"Goodbye, Sev."

"Bye, Lily."

"I'm sorry I've caused you so much pain."

"I love you."

She smiled sadly, drew one last long, shuddering breath, and then lifted her wand. "Do you still want me to stun you?"

He spread his arms wide. "Kill me instead, if you can. Let me die with the image of you in my eyes and the sound of your voice in my ears and the memory of your kiss in my heart."

"I'm not going to kill you, Sev."

He closed his eyes. "Do your best."

She shook her head exasperatedly, and then, softly, she muttered, "_Stupefy._"

The red bolt of light shot out of her wand and struck him in the stomach. Just like Gideon had, just like Fabian had, he fell to the floor.

But, unlike Severus, they would never wake.

Her eyes traveled over the room one last time. She knew she should go, but she could not tear herself away. In death, Fabian's face was a grimace of pain; Severus's was contorted in sorrow. Only Gideon's was calm and pensive.

"Sleep well," she whispered, the tears streaming down her cheeks. _I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry._

Unable to bear it a moment longer, she turned around and ran.

Her only thought was to get to St. Mungo's. Dashing over the porch steps, through the iron gates, and down the gravel road, she tried every few seconds to Disapparate. It wasn't until she was a quarter of a mile away from the mansion that she finally felt the black bands take hold of her.

It had been a long time since she'd staggered when Apparating, but when this one brought her down to her knees, she realized how exhausted she was. She stumbled upright, but she would have collapsed again if someone's firm hands hadn't seized her and kept her standing.

"Lily—Lily, what's happened? Are you alright?"

She steadied herself and turned to face the voice. It was Lydia, the healer who had first taken her and Remus to James's room when—goodness, was it only two days ago? It felt like an eternity had passed…

"Lily?"

"I—I need to see James. Now."

Lydia's eyes gleamed with curious questions, but she left them unspoken. "Come on, then. I'll take you."

As soon as they entered the lift, Lily jammed the button for the top floor and waited. Impatience didn't do the feeling justice; it was more of an urgency driven by desperation. Lydia observed her concernedly, but still she said nothing, and Lily was grateful.

The hall seemed to stretch for miles, and Lily couldn't walk fast enough. When they finally got there, the door was slightly open. Two healers were leaning over James's ashen form.

Lydia stepped inside and cleared her throat; the healers looked up. "I'm sorry," one of them said after surveying them for a moment over a thick pair of eyeglasses. "You'll have to wait. We're performing some tests that we hope will help us to target the problem."

Lydia nodded respectfully, turning and trying to usher Lily out. "It's alright," she said gently, "you'll be able to see him in a few minutes. We can wait outside in the hall—"

"Please," she whispered. "Please let me in."

The healer's eyes met hers slowly. Lily's anguished, helpless plea sounded like that of a woman who clung desperately to one last shred of glimmering hope. It shone in her emerald eyes, begging her, imploring her, beseeching her to grant this one simple wish.

_Please, _her eyes said. _Please don't take him away from me._

"John," Lydia murmured, turning slowly back to the healer, "John, I'm sorry, but your tests will have to stop for a few minutes."

The other healer started to splutter indignantly, but the one called John put a hand on his arm. "It's alright, Keith. We can wait."

Lydia turned to Lily and nodded. Lily swallowed her tears and stepped into the room. Wand in hand, she knelt slowly at his bedside and closed her eyes in the closest she had ever come to a prayer.

_Oh, God, if you ever give me anything, if you love me at all—if you're there—let this work._

She swallowed hard, wiping her tears away with her free hand, and took a deep breath, raising her wand. One of the healers bellowed at her to stop, but she could not, she would not—

"_Finimuerte!_"

She waited with bated breath, unable to move or to think clearly. She didn't know what she was waiting for, but she was sure she'd know it when it came.

The minute after she cast the spell seemed like an endless eternity. The healers exchanged skeptical glances, and Lily herself began to doubt Severus's countercurse. She stood anxiously and took a few nervous steps back from the bed.

_Why do you doubt? _she reprimanded herself fiercely. _He was more than sincere when he said he would sacrifice anything for your happiness—he was obsessed. It's your only hope; if you doubt it, there's no reason to keep on living._

And then, slowly, the color began to creep back into James's gray face. His pulse stabilized, his breathing became normal. Now the healers watched not with cynicism, but with awe, as his limbs twitched slightly and his eyelids fluttered open.

Lydia gasped, and Lily's legs went out from under her. She found herself kneeling at his side, sobbing into the sheets, relief flooding into her to replace the fear and grief and suspense that had been her constant companions for several days.

"Lily?" he whispered.

And for the first time in several days, she smiled through her tears. "I'm here," she murmured, reaching out to touch his face.

He closed his eyes and grinned. "Then the angels weren't a dream."

She smiled weakly. "You're not allowed to dream about angels—you're engaged to me."

"No man with a million angels could be half as lucky as I am."

She squeezed his hand. "I almost lost you," she whispered.

"I feel too weak to move."

"You've only just started healing. Be patient."

There was a long moment of silence, in which he seemed to be waiting for something. After a minute, he demanded, "Well?"

"What?"

The shadow of a grin flickered over his face. "When are you going to kiss me?"

She laughed, brushed his scraggly hair away from his forehead, and moved her face closer toward his. "I love you," she whispered. She could feel only unutterable joy and relief as she felt his touch against her skin. For this moment, at least, everything would be all right, and they could move forward with renewed strength and hope, battling insurmountable odds and finding frontiers, and they would come off victorious.

And she kissed him.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Juneaua: Wow…that took long enough.**_

**Lauren:** Juneaua only gets a little credit—she wrote a page and a half (double-spaced) and then decided to give up. It's a good thing she's my best friend, or I'd probably never forgive her. :-)

If James had ever been grateful to Dumbledore before, it was nothing compared to now.

He had not yet seen the headmaster, but he had not been awake more than an hour before Sirius bounded into his room, grinning and laughing in obvious relief. After he and Lily had satisfied all of his inquiries as to James's health, they managed to extract bits and pieces of news from him.

"Dumbledore's kept everything very low-key," he told them as soon as they managed to make him sit down. He kept moving restlessly, tapping his foot, drumming his fingers, or shifting in his chair. "Very few people in the Order know anything except that you and I were sent on a mission, and that you were delayed a few days—only Molly and Arthur and Mad-Eye know what really happened, and that's only because I took you to the Burrow after we were attacked." He grinned. "Even your parents believe that you're out of the country, visiting a foreign hospital."

James was incredibly thankful for this; it was just as well that no one knew what had happened. The more attention and awkward questions he could avoid, the better. "What about Remus and Peter?" he inquired. "They think that too?"

"Nah, 'course not," Sirius answered. "Remus knows, at least. Peter has no idea that anything's gone on, since he's still in Poland and it's not safe to send any confidential information."

"Where _is _Remus, then?"

Sirius's face darkened slightly, and he stopped fidgeting. "He went to the Ministry of Magic."

James tightened his hand around Lily's. "Why?" he demanded.

His friend stood abruptly and began pacing at the foot of the bed. "They passed a decree," he said after a few moments of silence, "the day after we were attacked, that requires all werewolves to register their names, addresses, professions, and incomes with the Department of the Regulation of Magical Creatures. They've levied an extra tax against them, too—they say it's to pay for the protection required in areas with werewolves."

"That's ridiculous!" Lily said angrily, eyes flashing. "How can they get away with such a thing, when common humanity clearly dictates—"

"He wasn't going to go," Sirius said quietly, cutting across her. "He said he would rather be on the run from the law than subject himself to such a breach of democracy and human rights—it was a matter of principle, I suppose. But then the healers said that James only had a few days to live, and you disappeared, Lily, and he realized that if he abandoned the law, he would have to disappear completely—and that would mean abandoning his friends."

James leaned his head back on his pillow and closed his eyes. "Maybe we oughta try being werewolves sometime, Sirius—see if either of us gets a level head or an even temper like Remus has. Even between the two of us, I don't think we've got half his good qualities."

"Can I get that in writing?" said a familiar voice from the other side of the room. Lily and Sirius spun around, and James raised his head. Remus was leaning in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, grinning

James laughed as Remus walked towards him bent down to give him a hug. "Nice timing, Moony—if you'd come in ten seconds later, Sirius would've had to admit that I was right. You got here just in time to save his pride."

Sirius cuffed him good-naturedly. "I suffer from anger-management problems, too, so you'd better watch what you say around me. But you're way earlier than I expected, Remus—you can't have finished everything at the Ministry already."

"I'd only just gotten there when I got a message from Dumbledore." From his pocket, he withdrew two halves of a fortune cookie and handed Lily the slip of paper that had come inside it. She read it aloud.

"That thing which you most desire has come to pass."

Remus smiled wanly as he accepted it back. "He couldn't send a letter, obviously, since there was too much of a chance it would get intercepted, and this was harmless enough, so…" His voice trailed off, and he shrugged as if it were no big deal. "I'll do it tomorrow."

"But you'll be fined," Sirius protested. "Today's the deadline, isn't it?"

Remus shrugged again, but it was a little too convincing to be real. James could see that it wasn't as easy as he made it sound. "It's not a big fine, and I'd rather be here anyway. _Don't_ say anything," he reprimanded as Sirius opened his mouth again. "It's my choice—this is what I choose."

Behind him, someone cleared his throat, and they all jumped.

Professor Dumbledore was there, standing at Remus' shoulder. None of them was quite sure how he had come to be there, not having seen him approach. James, however, was glad he had arrived: any problems that lingered over their latest escapade would soon be resolved once the headmaster got involved.

Lily, however, looked suddenly uncomfortable; she shifted in her chair, eyes downcast. Indeed, Dumbledore had turned his half-moon spectacles on her with an expression of grave contemplation. James, eyes flickering between them, tightened his grip on her hand, as though worried that Dumbledore had come to take her away from him.

The headmaster summoned a chair from thin air and set it down directly opposite Lily's. She blanched, and her fingers trembled slightly. James looked at her concernedly. "Are you alright?" he inquired softly.

Lily nodded, but Dumbledore smiled sadly. "She knows that I am here to force her to reveal something she wants very much to forget."

She glanced at James, who was staring at her uncomprehendingly. She had avoided telling him what, exactly, she had been up to the previous night.

Dumbledore sighed apologetically. "I need you to tell me what happened, Lily," he said quietly.

She let out a long breath. "You won't like it," she answered hollowly. "I made a lot of mistakes, and they've had horrible consequences." James, who knew her voice so well, could hear its unspeakable tremor of agonized guilt, and his own heart wrenched for her. He sat up and put his arm around her waist, wishing he could take away whatever burden she carried.

"I need you to tell me," Dumbledore repeated.

Glancing first at Remus, then at Sirius, and, finally, at James, she haltingly, tremulously, began her story.

Her fiancé listened in growing horror as the tale fell from her lips. Her voice was quiet, and he could tell that although she was trying to keep it emotionless, the tears were never far away.

And, from the very outset, he understood why it hurt him so much.

She had done it all for him.

She didn't say so, of course—she didn't give a reason for going to retrieve the journal—but everyone in the room knew it. What other motive could she have had, unless she thought that it contained some secret that might save him?

He felt Sirius's, Remus', and Dumbledore's eyes flicker towards him occasionally, but he had eyes only for Lily. Her voice became a whisper as, head resting miserably in her hands, she told about the Prewetts. He felt his gut wrench sickeningly when she related what had happened, but his sorrow for them was overcome by his sympathy for Lily; he knew she felt responsible for their deaths.

_And to think she did it all for me…_

Dumbledore departed abruptly when she had finished, but not before he told her the same thing that was on the tip of James's tongue. "Lily," he began firmly, "you did not cause their deaths. Only one person can be held responsible for them—Lord Voldemort cast the spell, and it is him to whom all the blame belongs."

"If I hadn't—"

"Listen to me," he said sharply. "You would never have willingly hurt them. _You did not kill them, _Lily. Don't let this haunt you."

His eyes were not twinkling now—they were full of solemn, sincere concern. They seemed to lock with Lily's for an eternal moment, and then he straightened up, gave a parting nod, and then he was gone.

James, hating himself for the pain in her eyes, knowing that all she had suffered was to save him, kicked the blanket away, slid to the edge of the bed, and pulled her out of her chair. "You should never have gone," he whispered, drawing her into his arms. "There was absolutely no reason to put yourself in danger like that." He kissed her gently, aware for the first time how lucky he was that she had survived the night. Remus, who seemed to sense that they needed to be alone, seized Sirius's arm and dragged him away quietly.

"How can you say that?" she murmured into his chest, and he could suddenly feel her tears seeping through the front of his robe. "You would have done the exact same thing."

"Of course I would have," he said, breathing deeply into her hair. "But how could I have borne losing you?"

"You'd have fared better than I would have if you were killed."

He put two fingers under her chin and lifted her head until their eyes met. "Not likely," he whispered, kissing her again.

"James…" she murmured, her lips never quite leaving his.

"Mmm?"

"Can we get married? Tomorrow?"

"Tonight—just say the word, and it'll be done."

"I love you."

"Those are the most beautiful words I've ever heard.

* * *

James had never truly thought about his wedding.

But whatever he had expected, it was not a ceremony so secret that only his best friends and his parents attended.

He hadn't planned on standing in the parlor of his parents' house with Sirius beside him, joined only by Remus, Peter, Matthew and Elizabeth Potter, Catherine Evans, and Dumbledore.

It should have been disappointing, or anticlimactic at the least. He had never imagined there would be such a high price on his head that even a public ceremony was too risky.

But somehow, the moment the door opened and Lily entered on her father's arm, he knew there was no other way he would have wished it.

William Evans, with a whispered, "I love you," gave away his daughter's hand with tears in his eyes, reminding James of the priceless treasure that he was gaining. He had eyes only for her. He could imagine her, even though the veil prevented him from seeing her clearly: her beautiful hair bounced in loose curls down her back, her face radiated joy, and her eyes—those eyes that had enticed, allured, ensnared him from the very first moment he met her—her eyes, brilliant, emerald, shining, dazzling—holding him captive even now, unable to tear his gaze away from her face.

"Sir?"

James jumped. He hadn't noticed that the priest had finished, waiting for him.

"Answer 'I do.'"

Next to him, Sirius snorted. Lily was pursing her lips, trying not to laugh. Dumbledore's eyes were sparkling.

"Oh…" He felt his cheeks flush. "I do."

"Do you have a ring?"

"Yes." He fumbled in his pocket for a moment, unwilling to let go of her hand, and withdrew the ring. He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. "With this ring," he slid the silver band onto her finger. "I thee wed, and with it, I bestow upon thee all the treasures of my mind, heart, and hands."

She withdrew her own ring, and he felt the cool metal against his skin, sending chills up his arm. "This ring I give to you as a token of my love and devotion to you. I pledge to you all that I am and all that I will ever be as your wife. With this ring, I gladly marry you and join my life to yours." She squeezed his fingers.

"I now pronounce you man and wife. Till death dost thou part."

_Man and wife…_

"You may kiss the bride."

He turned to her, lifted the veil from her face, revealing her sparkling green eyes.

_Till death do us part? _

He almost laughed.

_I'd like to see it try._


	15. Chapter 15

**Lauren:** Hey, everyone! As I'm sure many of you know, AP season is here—which means that if we update before June, it'll be a miracle (not that we would probably update before then anyway, but just don't get your hopes up this time). Anyway, thanks for sticking with it—it's really fun to write, and I'm glad people enjoy reading it. 

_Lily Potter._

It had a ring to it that she loved from the beginning.

When James slipped into the bedroom late every night, exhausted from his intensive training, he would crawl into the bed beside her, wrap his arms around her waist, and draw her to his chest, where he would kiss her until her heart thudded wildly and she could feel the blood pounding through her veins.

"Lily Potter?" he would whisper.

"Mmm?"

"I love you."

She was absolutely certain that she was the happiest woman on earth.

James's friends felt neglected, she knew: he had very little spare time, and he spent every second of it with her. They were often welcome to tag along, but when they did, they found themselves very nearly ignored. Sirius did not even try to conceal his chagrin, but Remus seemed content to see his friend wholly absorbed in his wife. Peter, whether he liked it or not, accepted it without comment.

Lily didn't feel the slightest bit guilty. For now, at least, James was entirely hers.

The months flew by in an idyllic blur—April, May, June, July, August, September, October—they were suddenly gone, and she had very few distinct memories of them passing. November was upon them, and with it—James's practical exams.

This was the last step before he could become a fully-certified healer: a series of practical application tests, overseen by the head of St. Mungo's, that would determine whether he was qualified to advance to the status of a licensed healer. If he didn't pass one, he had to wait an entire year before he could take it again. It would mean many late nights, grueling studying, and extra hours at the hospital.

James knew that he would not see much of Lily over the ensuing weeks, so a few nights before his exams began, he told his supervisor that he had to leave early. Finishing his work as fast as he could, he left the hospital, pulling his cloak tightly around him as he stepped out into the chilling wind.

For several months, he had been trying to convince her to let him buy her a piano. She insisted that he was being ridiculous—she said she'd never played that well, and there was no reason to spend loads of money on one when she could go to her parents' house anytime she wanted to and use theirs. _He _insisted that it was an entirely selfish desire: from the first night that he had met her parents and watched her hands dance gracefully across the keys, her playing had enraptured him. He could listen to it for hours on end, never tiring or growing disinterested.

He smiled smugly as he walked towards a tiny music shop squeezed in between an uppity department store and a sleek, towering office building. Lily had known what she was getting into before she married him—she knew that his loggerheaded stubbornness was not a force to be underestimated.

The plump, bald-headed clerk looked up from a stack of paperwork as he entered, a smile breaking out on his face. "Here to finalize the purchase, sir?"

James nodded and glanced toward the far corner, where two pianos stood. One was a beautiful ebony grand that had first caught James's eye when he came here a week previously. Of course, it was far beyond what he could afford, it would never fit into their apartment, and Lily would reject it without a second thought: it was just too much.

Beside it, rather dwarfed by the majesty of its companion, was a small, used upright with a battered old bench tucked under it. The ivory keys were faintly yellow with age, and the finish was wearing off on the music ledge, where countless books and papers had doubtlessly been placed. Though it was faded and cracked, the gold lettering on the lid was still legible: ERARD.

It might as well have had Lily's name scrawled across it. James had seen the dignified grand piano from the window outside, but as soon as he had entered the shop, he had eyes only for this one. He didn't know why, but it _felt _right for her. It had an ancient beauty that spoke of timelessness, and it had been well-used and cherished. Lily would love it in spite of herself.

The clerk coughed slightly, reminding James that he was not alone. He moved toward the desk and pulled out of a wad of bank notes.

"You're going to pay in cash?" the man asked, surprised. "We accept credit cards, you know."

James had gone to Gringotts the day before, where they had exchanged a pile of his galleons for a roll of Muggle money. He would have gone to a wizarding music store, except the nearest one was out in Sussex, and besides, he didn't want a piano that could play a duet with the pianist or embellish a song or plunk out notes of its own accord. He wanted a Muggle one, the kind that Lily liked.

"Is that all?" the clerk asked when they had counted out the right number of bills.

James's eyes strayed towards the wall that was covered in sheet music, and then he shook his head slowly. "Hang on a second."

He spent a good ten minutes scanning the wall, eyes flickering from title to title. There it was—barely showing from behind a stack of blank staff paper. He tucked it into his jacket, gave the man ten more pounds, and turned to the piano. The clerk looked at him skeptically. "How are you planning on getting that home, sir?"

James shrugged. "I'll push it."

And he did, though it didn't take much effort; the clerk didn't see, but the piano was floating about a quarter of an inch above the ground. James's wand was concealed in his sleeve.

He had planned it all out. By now, Sirius had lured Lily out of the apartment, and James would be free to install it in their sitting room without interference. He pushed the piano into an obscure alleyway, gripped the leg tightly in one hand and held the bench beneath his other arm, and Disapparated.

A moment later, he was outside his small apartment building, standing in the yard with a piano beside him. A quick check assured him that the spell had not damaged it at all, and then, with a glance around to make sure no one was watching, he levitated it up the stairs and through their front door.

"I knew it," said an accusatory voice.

James peered over the top of the piano. There was Sirius, looking frustrated, and Lily, her arms folded crossly.

"I can't believe you, James," she said exasperatedly. "As many times as I told you _no—_"

As she was speaking, he was pushing one end around so that the piano faced her. As soon as he moved, her hands flew to her mouth.

"Do you like it?" James asked, coming to stand beside her and putting his arm around her waist.

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

"I thought about getting a twelve-foot concert grand, but I figured if I did, I'd have to sleep on the couch for about a month."

"Yeah," Sirius snickered, "because you'd have to get rid of your bed to fit the piano in, and even then it would still probably touch both walls."

James shot a glare at him. "What happened to getting her out of the apartment?"

"Sirius is a terrible liar," Lily answered, grinning impishly as she entwined her fingers with James's. "I smelled a rat as soon as he came in here."

"No, no, no, Lily, you've got it all wrong. Haven't you been around us long enough to know that _Peter _is the rat, not_—_"

"Will you play it for me?" James interrupted in a whisper. Sirius looked disgruntled.

She flushed, shaking her head. "I don't have anything memorized," she protested, "and all my music is at my parents' house…"

James reached into his jacket and withdrew the sheet music he had purchased at the shop. She took it, her fingers trembling slightly. Across the top in black lettering was printed the title _Wheels of a Dream. _

Tenderly, she drew the battered bench up to the piano, set the music on the ledge, and began to play.

It was far from perfect, and she winced at every mistake, fumbling to cover it up with the addition of a few well-chosen notes. James, however, knew none of this: as soon as her fingers started moving across the keys, he was enraptured. She was beautiful, sitting there, and the melody that seemed to tumble from her hands could have been a choir of angels—it had the exact same effect on him.

As she played, he moved closer to her, and by the time she struck the last chord, he was sitting beside her, perched on the very edge of the bench. He kissed her, lifted her hand in his, and ran it along the words engraved along the panel of wood beneath the keys:

The Stars are Silver Notes Across the Sky

"You shouldn't have gotten it for me," she murmured, letting him press his lips against her cheek as she stroked the keys, "but it's perfect anyway."

"I knew you'd like it," he answered, smiling the lopsided smile that still made her knees go weak every time, "but it's sitting right in front of our door. Shall we move it, or just keep it here?"

She laughed. "Oh, I suppose we can move it."

Scooting the bench out, she stood up—and the world rocked beneath her. Her head spun, her stomach flipped, and her legs trembled and collapsed, but James's strong arms caught her before she hit the floor, half-guiding, half-carrying her to the couch across the room.

When she sat down, her vision focused, but the nauseated feeling remained. "Are you alright?" James asked concernedly. She could feel Sirius hovering over them, gazing down at her anxiously.

"I'm—I'm fine. Just a dizzy spell…"

But as she said that, it happened again. She doubled over, clutching her stomach and letting out a soft moan.

"We'd better get you to St. Mungo's." There was a definitely worried tone in James's voice now.

"Absolutely not," she said sharply. "I'm just a bit sick, that's all. No need to overreact. I think I just need to lie down."

He insisted on carrying her to the bedroom, where he sat by her side and held her hand, asking every thirty seconds whether she wanted anything. Sirius left after James growled at him for speaking too loudly. For a few minutes after she lay down, Lily felt like she would be fine, but then another dizzy spell hit, and this time her stomach heaved so badly that she vomited.

She was ill for the rest of the evening, and she felt terrible that she had ruined James's night. At half past ten, he climbed into bed beside her, holding her close and telling her that if she wasn't better in the morning, he was taking her to St. Mungo's. She felt too weak to protest. It wasn't long before his breathing steadied and she knew he was asleep, but it took hours after that before she sank into a fitful slumber.

Early the next morning, James's voice whispered in her ear, "Are you still feeling sick?"

"I never felt better," she answered. "Go ahead, James, don't worry about me. You need to get to work."

But as soon as she heard the telltale _crack_ that meant he had Disapparated, she stumbled out of bed and retched into the toilet.

No, she most definitely was _not_ better.

As the day wore on, she stopped returning to her bed every time she had to vomit, simply sitting on the cold tile of bathroom and leaning against the cabinet, unable to muster the energy to move. The dizzy spells got worse every time she moved, which was another incentive to stay put. She could only hope that it was one of those twenty-four hour viruses that she used to get all the time when she was little—if it was, it would be over before James got home.

No such luck.

As she watched the clock move gradually toward the nine, which was when he usually left work, her mind began to wander. She knew that James would be furious—first for having lied to him this morning, and then for having let him spend the whole day at the hospital when she was so miserable here. He would insist on taking her to St. Mungo's, and even if she flatly refused to go, then he would simply stay here with her tomorrow. Maybe if she could find someone else who was willing to stay with her throughout the day, he would be satisfied enough to go. Her mother would do it willingly, of course, but Catherine Evans was busy—Petunia was expecting a baby any day, and she needed her mother to help her with just about everything. There was Alice Longbottom, but she worked for the Ministry as an auror, and she had so much on her plate right now that she would never be able to spare that much time. Maybe Molly Weasley… but Molly was six months pregnant with her sixth child—

That was when it hit her.

Lily suddenly found it very hard to breathe, and this had nothing to do with the dizzy spells that had been attacking her all day.

_Am I crazy?_

She vomited again. Then she groped for the edge of the counter, dragged herself up, stumbled into her room, and collapsed onto the bed.

_No way, _she thought. _Absolutely not._

She heard James come into the apartment a few minutes later, interrupting her terrifying, thrilling, crazy train of thought. "Lily?" he called softly, and she picked out his familiar tread coming down the hall. He appeared in the doorway a moment later and flicked on the light.

He saw her, pale and trembling on the bed, and he was immediately at her side, pulling her head into his lap and stroking her hair. "It's alright," he whispered. He slid his arms under her and lifted her into his lap. "I'm going to take you to St. Mungo's, and we'll find out what's wrong—"

"James," she moaned hoarsely. "I don't need to go to St. Mungo's."

"You don't have a choice," he said fervently. "I'll drag you if I have to. You're really sick, Lily, and I'm worried that it's only going to get worse."

"It's not a sickness that a healer can cure, James," she whispered into his chest.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, and there was a trace of panic in his voice. "Don't be ridiculous."

Another dizzy spell hit, and she had to wait for it to pass before she could speak again. "You're the healer," she reminded him. "If you think about it, you'll realize what's wrong."

He looked at her blankly.

"It's morning sickness, James."

It didn't register.

"I'm going to have a baby."

He stared at her.

Lily waited.

After several minutes, she felt his hand slide up and rest on her stomach. "Baby," he repeated.

She smiled weakly, her stomach lurching again. "What, were you hoping for a possum?"

There was a long silence.

"An orangutan, actually," he finally managed to say.

She laughed. "If that's what it ends up being, I blame you."

He kissed her forehead. "How are you feeling?" he whispered after a moment.

She hesitated, but then she decided it was no use trying to lie to him. "Terrible," she muttered.

"How long does morning sickness usually last?"

She shrugged. "Nine whole months, with my luck."

"I can't leave you alone like this every day."

"You can't just neglect your training either," she answered firmly. "I'll be fine, James, I can take care of myself."

"Honestly, Lily, you looked like you were on your deathbed when I came in. I would go mad if I had to go to the hospital every day and leave you here to face that alone."

"Be rational," she admonished. "You know you can't just stop going to work—that's ridiculous. Besides, your trainee salary isn't enough to support all three of us."

"All three of us?" he repeated blankly. "What about your job at the apothecary?"

She looked slightly hurt, and he cradled her closer. "Of course," he realized. "You won't work after the baby's born."

"If you want me to—"

"Of course not," he interrupted. "I just wasn't thinking. Our son needs his mum at home."

"Our son?" Lily asked, brilliant eyes twinkling. "What if it's a girl?"

James tilted his head to one side, and then he shook it slowly. "No, it'll be a boy."

"How do you know?" she demanded playfully. "One of your healers' tricks, I imagine?"

He shook his head. "Nope. I just know. It's a boy. But honestly, Lily," he added, returning abruptly to the subject. "I would feel a million times better if there were someone here with you."

"James," she said exasperatedly. "Who can spare enough time to be here every moment of every day for who knows how long?"

"Your mum would do it, if we wanted her to."

"I can't ask that of her."

"My mum, then."

"Your mum's too busy—ever since your dad's been sick." Her tone grew sober as she spoke. "James, your dad's getting old. I don't want to take your mum away from him because I'm afraid that there's not—that he doesn't have much time left."

His hand tightened involuntarily around hers. "We can take you over there, then—she could be there for Dad _and_ for you."

"I'd feel more comfortable at my parents' house," she admitted. "But that doesn't mean I'm agreeing to it."

"We're moving into your parents' house, then, it's settled," James said, nodding determinedly.

"James!" she objected. "I'm not—"

But her protests were cut off abruptly as he pressed his lips to hers, one of his arms tightening around her waist and the other hand running through her hair. She had forgotten how to breathe: her pounding heart and racing blood drove everything else from her mind. Suddenly, nothing that James wanted seemed too much to ask.

"Alright," she gasped as he drew away. "Just kiss me like that again, and I'll be convinced."

He laughed softly, leaning in again. "I love you, Lily Potter."

--

"Okay… Tess?"

James sighed exasperatedly, throwing his quill down. "How are you so sure it's going to be a girl?"

Next to him, Lily smiled. "How are you so sure it's going to be a boy?" she countered. "What's your next one?"

James looked down at his list. "Ewan."

Lily shook her head. "There was a boy I knew on my block named Ewan who was absolutely cruel to me. I could never name a son that."

"Alright…" James scratched the name off his list. "Next."

Lily consulted her list. "Rupert."

James snorted. "Rupert? You honestly would name your son Rupert?"

"Well, yes," Lily responded defensively. "What's wrong with it?"

"We'd have to give him a proper middle name if we called him Rupert because every kid at school would tease him to death with a name like that."

"And how would you know?" she retorted.

"Because if there had been a Rupert in our year, _I _would have teased him to death."

She slapped him playfully on the shoulder. "You're terrible."

"Alright then. Not Rupert. How about Anthony?"

Lily shook her head. "William?"

"It's too old fashioned."

"Do you have any girl names on your list?"

James consulted his piece of parchment. "Rose."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Please, James, I've had quite enough floral names for my time. With a sister Petunia, a cousin named Daisy, and now the last name Potter, I have quite enough foliage in my life."

James laughed. "Helena?"

Lily shook her head. "It's too weird."

"Well, maybe I like weird." He kissed her cheek. "Your turn."

"Jack."

"Nah, I had a dog named Jack once."

"Alright." She picked up the book of baby names on the table beside them and thumbed through it. "Atticus."

"Isn't that from some book?"

"So? I like it."

"Next."

"Joanne."

"Um…I could live with that one. Put it on the maybe list."

"Stella."

"Nope."

"Blanche."

"That sounds disgusting."

"Lynette."

"Is that the name of an instrument?"

"Mina. That's kind of pretty."

"Yeah…I kind of like that too."

"Finally!" Lily added the name to the list titled "Names we agree on." It was the first one.

"So…Mina if it's a girl. And what for a boy?"

James looked down at his list. "Gerard."

She made a face. "No."

"Mark."

"No."

"Roger."

"Um…maybe."

James smiled. "'Maybe.' We're making progress."

Lily laughed. "How many more do you have?"

"Just a few. Hadley?"

"Where on earth did you pick that one up from?"

James grinned. "Okay. I'll take that as a no. Eden?"

"Far too biblical."

"Iris."

"Plants, James. I'm done with plants."

"Norbert. Leo. Benjamin. Christian."

"Too weird, too short, too common, too religious," she said, ticking them off on her fingers. "Any others?"

James looked down at his list. "Just one."

There was a pause.

"Are you going to tell me what it is?"

"No."

"Why not?" she asked incredulously.

"Because it's my favorite—you'll hurt my feelings if you reject it."

Lily almost thought he was serious, but then she saw his lip twitch. "Yeah, I probably will," she agreed, "but until you try you'll never know."

He sighed. "Alright then. It's Harry."

She cocked her head, and to his surprise, she didn't object. "Harry," she nodded. "I actually like it."

James punched the air with his fist. "Finally! Let's celebrate."

He waved his wand, and a bottle of butterbeer, complete with two glasses, appeared on the table. Lily laughed.

"So," James said, consulting their results as he pried the top off of the bottle. "Mina if it's a girl, maybe Joanne. And Harry if it's a boy. And it's going to be a boy." He kissed the top of her head. "Harry Potter."


	16. Chapter 16

**Lauren: **We're back! Sorry about the hiatus… you know, summer got in the way and all that, and then school did, and then college apps, and then a general all-around sheer lack of time prevented us from doing just about anything. This one is in honor of Juneaua's birthday (which was, admittedly, about four months ago, but better late than never, right? I honestly had every intention of getting it done for the occasion. It just… never happened.) 

Their things had been packed into several cardboard boxes, which sat in a corner looking ready to be moved. James had done it all that afternoon, insisting that she rest on the couch and try not to strain herself. A final spell from his wand sent them ahead, and then he offered her his arm.

"Shall we?"

Lily stood weakly, leaning heavily on him for support. The first day had definitely been the worst, but the morning sickness had gotten little better. The vomiting had all but stopped, but the nausea still left her groaning on the bed, hardly able to move. Although she had insisted to James for the last week and a half that she would be fine, that she could manage for herself, she was inwardly glad that they were going to stay at her parents' for a few months.

William and Catharine Evans had returned from Little Whinging two nights ago, where they had spent a week after Petunia's baby had been born. As soon as their elder daughter had recovered enough to manage for herself, they flew back to London; they had not been home ten minutes when James arrived at their door, telling them that Lily was pregnant and asking if they could come and stay there until her morning sickness improved.

Lily felt slightly guilty about inconveniencing her parents like this—who knew how long it would last?—but as soon as James had explained the situation, her mother had insisted that they stay, and all it took was her father's agreement to convince her that her husband was right: that she needed someone around to help her while he was at work.

James gently guided her to her feet and gripped her hand firmly in his. "Ready?" he asked. "Hold on tight. I'm afraid that this might make it worse."

Lily, who had been feeling rather better than usual this evening, braced herself as she prepared to Apparate.

They arrived moments later in her parents' front hall; the spell had robbed her of her breath, but otherwise she felt no different. Inhaling deeply, she looked up as she heard footsteps in front of her.

"Hello!" her mother said, holding out her arms in a welcoming embrace. "Oh, it's wonderful to see you! I could hardly believe it when James told me the news—another grandchild! Oh, Lily, I'm so happy! And James, too, it's so good you're here."

James gave his mother-in-law a winning smile, and Lily laughed. "Don't simper at my mum like that, you cheeky imp."

"Come into the kitchen, both of you," Catharine Evans said, waving them forward. "I've made clam chowder and we can't have it going to waste. Unless, of course, Lily dear, you're not feeling well enough?"

"I'm fine," Lily answered, waving it off.

"She'd have to be at death's door to miss you're cooking," James said, taking her hand and leading her toward the kitchen.

"I'll get William—he's in his shop, and he can't hear me because of all the power tools he uses." She moved down another hallway, motioning to James and Lily to continue toward the kitchen. They sat down to a small, homemade table, set with simple silverware, large bowls, and a huge pot of steaming soup. James, licking his lips theatrically, lifted the lid to let the smell waft through the air.

When it reached Lily, however, she had to force back a nauseated gag. The smell was overpowering; suddenly she was sick to the stomach. She knew it wasn't the chowder—she had eaten and enjoyed her mother's recipe since she was little, and James thought it smelled excellent—she knew it was her morning sickness. She put the back of her hand to her mouth and tried to swallow the increasing need to vomit.

"Lily! James!"

Her father, William, stood in the door of the kitchen. Waving at them to remain seated, he moved toward her to give her a hug, bending down and whispering in her ear, "I'm glad you're here, Lily."

"Good to see you too, Dad," she answered weakly.

"And James, charming as always," he said, shaking her husband's hand. "You know, I understand that you and Vernon aren't on the best of terms, but when you both have little boys, it might be fun for the cousins to take an outing or two with their fathers… you know, camping or bowling or fishing or something."

James glanced sideways at Lily. His mouth said: "We don't know if it's going to be a boy yet, William." His eyes, amused, said: "I would never let my son associate with someone named _Dudley._"

Lily had to fight a smile.

Catherine joined them, and after William said grace, he began ladling out soup. Lily was determined to force herself to eat some, even if it made her sick, but James seemed to notice the pained expression on her face.

"Are you alright?" he asked concernedly. "Do you need to go lie down?"

"No, I'm fine."

He gave her a skeptical look.

"I'm fine!" she insisted, but he wasn't convinced, and she broke. "Maybe I should lie down for a few minutes," she confessed. Truth was, it was a lot worse than she was letting on.

He sprang up and helped her to her feet. Supporting her on his arm, he led her into the living room, where he carefully arranged the pillows to maximize her comfort and gently helped her lie down. She wasn't _that _incapacitated, she thought to herself as she relaxed, but his tenderness just made her love him more.

As soon as he was gone, though, Lily's strong façade melted. She sank weakly into the sofa cushions, letting out a soft moan as she tried to quell the overpowering nausea in her stomach. She turned her face into one of the cream-colored pillows and inhaled deeply; its faint fragrance smelled like a coalescence of lemon and peppermint. It was familiar, warm, and she wondered vaguely whether some of her mother's perfume had spilled on it. Glad to get her mind off of the pain, she let it wander to a distant memory of being cradled in her mother's arms and smelling the same smell, and then to one of going to the department store and watching her mother select a small red box with golden lettering, and then to a similar box that Petunia had received as a gift at a bridal shower, and then to Petunia's wedding, and then to the picture of Petunia's baby on the mantelpiece downstairs…

And suddenly the hot tears were sliding down her cheeks and into the pillow tracing shiny trails across her face. She knew that her precarious hormone levels had something to do with it, and she angrily brushed the tears away, telling herself that she was being completely irrational. But try as she might to keep it back, she was hit by a barrage of memories that she had locked out of her mind for years.

The day that the first Hogwarts letter had arrived, and their parents, ecstatic, had all but forgotten their elder daughter in the excitement. Petunia, standing there, staring at the yellow envelope clutched in her sister's hand. Her second summer home when she had learned that a first offense was punishable only by a warning and turned the teacups into rats during dinner one evening—Petunia's petrified scream as one of them scampered up her arm and down the back of her shirt. The time that Petunia had finally exploded and refused to talk to Lily the whole summer after her fifth year, because she hated talking about magic. Their very last day of school, when Petunia had seen her kissing James as they left King's Cross Station. The last time they had talked and Petunia had said coldly that she couldn't call such a _freak _her sister anymore.

It shouldn't have turned out the way it did, Lily knew. When they were little, before Hogwarts or magic or James, they had been the best of friends. She remembered the nights they had spent together in the tree house out back. They would run outside, laughing, and race each other up the giant cherry's trunk. Lily always won, but then, Petunia had always been the more cautious of the two. They would lie up there for hours, talking or giggling or just gazing silently at the stars.

She would never give up the world of magic that she had grown to love, but part of her wished that she didn't care so much, that she could let it all go and have her sister back, the way it had been before. Even more, she wished that Petunia could get just a taste of how she felt about the wizarding world, of how much she loved James, and that maybe she wouldn't be so hostile anymore. That she would forgive Lily for being a witch.

She didn't know that James was in the room until she felt his tender, concerned hand on her shoulder. She stiffened at first, startled, but when she realized who it was, she allowed herself to be drawn into his arms, burying her face in his chest. He let her cry without asking any questions, stroking her hair and occasionally wiping a tear from her face with a gentle thumb.

Slowly, her crying subsided, and she felt like she had gained control of her crazy mood swings for the moment. She sat up, pulling her hair out of her face. "I'm sorry," she said rather hoarsely. "Crazy hormones."

He smiled, but she knew that he wasn't entirely convinced. She wasn't about to tell him what had overturned her delicate balance of hormones: she knew that he felt that the breach between his wife and her sister was mostly his fault. That was partially true—it had been their marriage that had ended their relationship entirely, because Petunia had hated James from the very outset—but he overestimated his role in it, forgetting that the rift had started long before he came along. She hated to let him think that he had had any part in it, so they talked about her sister as little as possible.

Several weeks passed quickly, Lily spending a lot of time in bed and her parents gladly helping her with whatever she needed. James would arrive late every evening, sit down to an excellent dinner provided by his mother-in-law, and then retreat to their room, where he would pay every possible attention to Lily, even if it was just to sit her by her side and hold her hand.

The severity of the morning sickness fluctuated: some days she felt like she could die, and others she was so close to normal that, were it not for a vague twinge of queasiness now and then, she would have sworn that it had stopped for good.

Although part of her didn't feel ready to be a mother, it sent a strange, exhilarating chill through her every time she thought about it. She was not yet far enough along to notice any swelling in her torso, but nonetheless, it was as though she could feel this new life budding inside of her, and she was awed and elated by the bond that was growing between her and her child. She had never actively _desired _to have children: though unopposed to it, motherhood had never been one of her dreams. But now, suddenly, her whole life was her little family: her James and her baby. She understood now, better than ever before, why mothers were so willing to sacrifice everything for their children: this baby growing within her, part her and part James and part something entirely new—she had thought until recently that she would never be able to love anyone as much as she did James. She knew now that she had been completely wrong.

She quickly became comfortable at her parents' house. It wasn't that she had ever been _un_comfortable there, but it wasn't long before she started to view it as her home again, like she had when she was a child. Having her parents there all of the time made her feel pampered, and she had never been able to talk to her mother as unreservedly as she could now. She loved having her old room back, and James' presence there when he was off of work made everything complete.

But of course, they were James and Lily Potter. Life could never stay that simple.

-----

"Potter."

James, bent studiously over a cauldron, scribbling notes with a dilapidated quill that had been new that morning, looked up, rather surprised. "Sir?"

It was Edgar Bones, head of the first floor, where James was currently working. He was a prestigious healer, having invented all sorts of spells and potions to combat the adverse effects of mal-worked or mal-intended spells. He was next in line for the head office of St. Mungo's, once the current director retired.

That was what the public new about him. What they didn't know was that he was secretly a member of the Order of the Phoenix, one who spied as deeply as he could penetrate into the Dark Lord's ranks, passing information and spreading rumors at Dumbledore's orders. His original training had been as an auror, and although he had turned from that career path, he had by no means allowed those skills to diminish. He had been the best wizard in the Order since Gideon and Fabian Prewett had been killed.

"Potter, I'd like to talk to you in my office," he said, beckoning to James to come with him.

"Yes, sir," James said obediently. He followed quietly, but inwardly he was bursting with questions. The heads of floors rarely paid any attention to trainee healers, and when they did, it was usually to point out an error in their work. Of course, James knew Edgar Bones much more intimately from working with him in the Order, but no one was supposed to know that: if anyone noticed them, wouldn't it look suspicious?

The office door closed behind them, and Bones began shuffling through one of the drawers in a huge filing cabinet behind his desk.

"The results of your practical application examination have been processed," he said dryly, withdrawing a thick envelope from one of the files. "In there you will find copies of the notes your attendant superiors made on your performance, a summary of your strengths and weaknesses in each area, and a certificate of advancement in this field."

James' hands shook as he took the envelope. "Thank you," he managed to say. There were five exams, one over the material on each floor, and this was one that he had been terrified that he'd failed. But a certificate of advancement? Surely that meant that he had passed?

Walking slowly back towards the room where he was supposed to be working on the development of a new potion that would ease the pain of transformations for werewolves, he turned it over in his hands and broke the seal.

In it, as promised, were the documents that certified that he had passed the first exam. Behind them, however, was a small piece of parchment that didn't look quite so official.

James glanced around to make sure that no one in the crowded hallway was paying attention to him. Bones had said nothing about this—maybe it had something to do with the Order, and giving James his exam results had been the only chance of slipping him the message. He fished it out of the envelope.

It was a recipe for a potion that was supposed to ease nausea. Since being nauseous didn't quite qualify as a "magical malady," his search in St. Mungo's files for a recipe like this had been unsuccessful. Scribbled at the bottom was a note: "I heard about your wife: I was hoping that this might help."

Smiling, James turned it over to see if the instructions continued on the other side. What he saw made him stop short.

On the back, written in the same handwriting as the message about Lily, was the word, "Tonight."

_Tonight? _What on earth did that mean? When Dumbledore sent notes out about meetings, they were usually clearer. Besides, this wasn't Dumbledore's handwriting. Was it from Edgar Bones himself, then?

Shuffling eagerly through his other papers, James found the certificate of advancement. There were two signatures on it: one was the head of St. Mungo's, and the other was the head of the first floor—Edgar Bones.

Holding them side-by-side, James scrutinized the signature against the note. It was obvious that they were from the same hand. He stared at them for a moment longer, took a deep breath, and then stuffed them all into his pockets. Suddenly feeling an uncomfortable nervousness tugging at his insides, he strode quickly down the corridor and into his workroom. He finished up very hurriedly and more than a little sloppily, shoved his mess of instruments back into the equipment closet, and moved quickly down into the lobby, from which he could Disapparate.

He knew he was more tense than the occasion merited, but something didn't feel right. Between the cryptic nature of the note and its delivery and the lack of contact from any Order members to clarify, it seemed like Bones may have been trying to warn him about something but had been somehow restrained from doing so more plainly. Even though he told himself that everything was fine, he couldn't hold back a slight moan of relief when he appeared in front of the Evans' house and found everything quiet and undisturbed.

It was fully dark by the time he arrived. He slipped the gate open, glanced around him, and walked up the path that led to the porch. Although William and Catharine Evans had no idea, James had asked Sirius to enchant the house and yard with every spell he knew that would guard against intruders. It had taken a full three days to do so, but James was satisfied that he would be hard pressed to find a wizarding household that was safer than this one, let alone one owned by Muggles.

He opened the door; the entryway was dark, but there was a light on in the living room. Following it, he felt another wave of relief; there was Lily, curled on the couch, a book in hand. He could hear Catharine doing the dishes in the kitchen and the grinding of a saw in William's workroom down the hall. Everything was all right.

Lily, absorbed in _To Kill a Mockingbird, _hadn't noticed him come in. Stealing across the thick carpet to the other side of the room, he leapt onto the couch beside her with a roar and snatched the book out of her hand.

"James!" she moaned, punching him playfully in the shoulder and trying to keep a straight face. "You've gone and lost my place, you great oaf, now give it here or I'll—"

"You'll what?" he teased, tossing the book onto the end table, out of reach, and sliding his arm around her waist. "You'll punch me again?"

"Don't you mock me, James Potter—I'm sure this diamond ring you gave me will make a lovely dent in your forehead."

Her lips were stern and her nostrils flared, but her eyes sparkled, and when he kissed her, all pretense of irritation melted. She kissed him back.

"How are you feeling?" he murmured, running a hand across her stomach. "You look better than you have in days."

"I _feel _better than I have in days," she answered fervently. She paused. "You're home from work early."

He shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. Now that he was here and sure that everyone was safe, his fears seemed irrational and paranoiac. Bones' note had probably only meant that there would be an Order meeting tonight—nothing dire or sinister behind it. In any case, he wasn't going to ruin Lily's day by telling her what had happened. "I passed my first floor practical exam," he finally said, grinning. "I thought I'd celebrate by taking an hour off."

"Of course you passed," she scoffed, kissing him again. "I knew you would. And it's pretty pathetic when all you can do to celebrate is come home an hour early."

"Ah, yes, woe is me," he said dramatically. "Such is the grueling life of a healer."

"Grueling, my foot," she laughed. "Try having morning sickness for a day."

"No, thanks," he said, pulling a face.

"James?" she murmured after a moment.

"Mmm?"

"I'm having a bizarre craving for a pomegranate."

"A—a what?"

She looked at him incredulously. "You've never had one?"

"It sounds like a nasty spell gone awry."

She laughed. "It's a fruit, O Knowledgeable One, and I can't believe you've never heard of them."

"I try to stay away from things that could kill me"—she snorted—"but if you like I can go see if there's one in the kitchen."

James pushed himself up off the couch and slipped down the hall into the kitchen. Catherine, who was just finishing the dishes, looked up as he entered and smiled warmly. "Hello, James. How was work?"

He shrugged. "It was alright. Here, let me put that away." He took the heavy pan that she had just finished drying and stowed it in its proper place in the cupboard.

"Thanks," she said, drying her hands on her towel and hanging it on the handle of the oven. "How's Lily doing?"

"Actually, she's craving a pomegranate," he answered, wrinkling his nose. "Whatever that is."

Catherine laughed. "I bought some this morning. They're on the table."

"Is this it?" he asked, selecting the only fruit he did not recognize from among the oranges and kiwis and holding it up.

"Yes. Take her a bowl to put the seeds in."

James opened the dish cupboard and selected a little glass bowl from a stack in the corner. He grabbed a tall glass from the top shelf, turned toward the freezer to fill it with ice, and—_crash_.

"Oh, James, I'm sorry!" Catherine's hands flew to her mouth as the glass tumbled to the tile floor. She had moved at the same time to put a plate away, and they had collided mid-stride, knocking the cup from his grasp. "Let me get a broom…"

"Oh, no, don't worry about it," he said, waving her concern away. He pulled his wand from his back pocket and muttered, "_Reparo._"

The shards flew together and the spidery cracks disappeared, and the glass was once again whole in his hand. He winked at her. "You didn't see a thing."

The Evans were witnesses to much of the common magic that he and Lily performed every day, even though there was a law that Muggles were not supposed to see it—the Ministry had too much on its plate right now to worry about enforcing that particular rule, at least not when it concerned Muggles who already knew about magic anyway. James put his wand on the counter and scooped a handful of ice out of the freezer, dropping it into the glass and then placing it under the tap. Balancing the bowl and the pomegranate in one hand and the glass in the other, he walked back to the living room and sat down next to Lily.

"Thanks," she said, accepting the fruit gratefully and splitting it open by peeling back a corner of the skin. James, taking a big swallow of water, watched her curiously as she picked out one of the corn-kernel-sized segments, put it into her mouth, and spat the seed back out into the bowl.

"Is it good?" he asked dubiously as she took another one.

She closed her eyes and inhaled theatrically. "Amazing."

He was about to respond when, without warning, the lights flickered out, and they were plunged into darkness.

"Hold on," came William's voice loudly from down the hall. "We must have blown a fuse. Let me find a flashlight."

In the dark, James reached for his wand and cursed when he realized that he had left it in the kitchen. "Some wizard I am," he muttered, standing up once more to retrieve it. "I can't even help when a measly household crisis like this arises."

He was halfway to the hall when the air was rent by a chilling scream.

James dashed blindly toward the kitchen, Lily right on his heels—he was sure it was his mother-in-law who had cried out. The ominous word _tonight, _scrawled in Edgar Bones' untidy handwriting, seared through his mind, and a chill shot up his spine.

William got to the kitchen before either of them did, but it was pitch black just like the rest of the house, and they couldn't see anything. "Catherine?" her husband called fearfully, stepping forward as he felt his way into the room. The only answer was a terrifying silence. Lily made as if to follow, but James held her back protectively.

"Don't," he whispered, his heart thudding painfully. He didn't know what was wrong, but whatever it was, he wanted Lily to be far away from it.

Suddenly a wand tip flared in the darkness, and a dim light flickered around the kitchen. Lily uttered a soft scream; standing before them was a black-cloaked figure, holding the wand, and at his feet was the unmoving body of Catharine Evans.

William bellowed in dismay and lunged toward her, but the wand tip flashed an electric blue and he was hurled back against the wall with a sickening crack. Lily gasped in horror, but still James held her back; the fear that had crept into his stomach and settled like lead was not for himself, but for Lily and the baby. His eyes darted between the menacing shadow before him and William, unconscious on the floor, torn between protecting his wife and moving to help his father-in-law. A gut-wrenching voice within him whispered that Catherine was dead, that the cloaked figure would murder the rest of them too, and they would be powerless to stop him. He had never felt so helpless as he did now.

Lily's trembling hand found his and grasped it.

"I made a promise to you once, Lily." The figure's voice was cold, merciless, twisted in a tone of macabre humor—and horribly familiar. "The last time we met, do you remember?"

He stepped over Catherine's body and moved slowly towards them. James felt Lily shudder, but she moved up to stand boldly beside him, and he squeezed her hand, a final, unuttered, ineffable _I love you _before the end that he knew must be coming.

"If I recall correctly," he continued quietly, "you had just destroyed something that I had entrusted to your safekeeping."

"And I would do it again," Lily answered fiercely. "No regrets."

"You dared to defy Lord Voldemort, to obliterate something of great value to me." As he spoke, a long-fingered, spidery hand drew back his hood to reveal a pale face, raven-black hair, and dark eyes that sparkled with malice. "So I swore to destroy everything of great value to you."

In the dim light cast by the wand in Voldemort's hand, James noticed that Catherine's chest was rising and falling almost imperceptibly. She wasn't dead, then, merely stunned. He scanned the countertop where he had left his own wand. If there was any way to get a hold of it, they might have a chance—

But his wand wasn't there.

Frantically now, his eyes darted around the rest of the kitchen, a foreboding feeling of dismay sinking into him. He had left it right there—right there!—and it had disappeared.

"Looking for this?"

His gaze locked onto Voldemort, and a sense of dread stole the breath from his chest: the wand that the Dark Lord held carelessly in his hand was his own.

Voldemort twirled the wand nonchalantly between his fingers, causing the light to flitter disconcertingly around the walls. "Death," he said softly, "is too lenient a punishment for betrayal, Lily Potter. Simply killing you wouldn't be good enough—no, the only fitting retribution for your treachery is to make you suffer beyond the limits of mortal forbearance."

James could feel his entire world crumbling around his shoulders.

William, still crumpled on the floor, groaned in pain, consciousness flickering back into his eyes as he tried to stand. Voldemort was momentarily distracted, and James, desperate, saw his chance. Pulling away from Lily, he launched himself at the hooded form, armed with nothing but his fists. For a fraction of a second, hope flared within him that Voldemort wouldn't react quickly enough, that his unexpected attack would give him the advantage, that maybe, just maybe, he could get them all out of this alive—

—And then a spell struck him in the chest.

Voldemort laughed callously as James froze in midair, the Impediment Curse immobilizing him completely. Lily darted forward to intervene, but another flick of Voldemort's wrist threw her back against the cupboards and held her struggling there, as though an invisible arm had wrapped itself around her neck. She cried out as he turned the wand on William, who had staggered weakly to his feet.

"We'll start with your father," Voldemort hissed, a terrible smile curling his lip. "Say goodbye, Lily."

A streak of eerie green light shot across the kitchen; Lily screamed, fighting helplessly against the invisible force that was holding her back; James, horror rising inside him, could not turn his head to look away from William's lifeless body, slumped on the floor. Voldemort rolled the wand carelessly between his fingers; the lights that spun around the kitchen suddenly made James sick to his stomach. He wanted to run to Lily, to shield her, but the Impediment Curse still held him frozen, as if he were nothing more than a figure in a Muggle photo. It tore at him to listen to her sobs, which redoubled as the Dark Lord turned to point the wand at her mother.

"I always keep my word, Lily," he said in a malicious whisper. "Your parents are only the beginning."

Her breath caught in an agonized gasp as the kitchen was illuminated by another flash of fatal green light, and then it was all over. Her parents were dead.

Voldemort let James' wand clatter to the floor, withdrawing his own from amid the folds of his billowing robes. The spell that had seized Lily released her; glaring at the Dark Lord, she moved defiantly toward James, her eyes darting toward the wand that lay on the ground. It was not ten feet away, but Voldemort stood between them. She knew she was powerless to fight an armed wizard, but she stepped defensively in front of James, shielding him from the long wand in Voldemort's spidery hand.

He laughed callously. "Don't worry, Lily. I'm not going to kill James. I have better plans for him." He flicked his wand, and thin, gray ropes twisted out of the tip to wrap themselves around her wrists and ankles, causing her to lose her balance. She inhaled sharply as her knees made painful contact with the ground, but she lifted her eyes and gazed at him furiously. "I'm not afraid of you," she spat, her voice barely above a whisper. "You can destroy us, but you will never defeat us."

"You quote a poet?" Voldemort sneered derisively, his cold eyes locked onto hers. "The words of poets are vain and foolish."

"He was a novelist, actually," she answered, knowing that it didn't matter. She had said the words not because she had thought they would scare him off, but because she was searching in them for the sort of courage they conveyed.

James could feel the Impediment Curse begin to lift. He strained against the magic that held him motionless, but it wouldn't give way yet—not yet. A few more moments….

But Voldemort was moving quickly. Lily struggled against her bonds as he crossed to her, but to no avail; he seized a handful of her hair, and she cried out in pain. James felt his heart race in alarm—something bad was going to happen, and he was still frozen, unable to intervene. The spell was lifting, he knew it was, but not quickly enough. His eyes met Lily's for a fraction of a second, and time seemed to halt, the moment drawing out over a fleeting eternity, and then Voldemort pulled her away, his wand at her throat.

The last vestiges of the Impediment Curse melted away, and James lunged at the wand on the floor, a feeling of triumph searing through him as he snatched it up and whirled to face his opponent. But it was too late; Voldemort had taken her and fled. Disapparated. Gone.

James couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't feel—he could only stand there, gazing in shock at the floor where they had stood just a moment before. How could he have let this happen? What had he done wrong, where had he failed in his efforts to protect his family? Why hadn't someone been there to help? The questions raced through his mind in a jumble of incoherent, half-completed thoughts, all focused around one thing: Voldemort had taken Lily.


	17. Chapter 17

**Lauren: **We're back! After a hiatus of about eight months, here's the next chapter. Sorry if it's been so long that you have to go back and reread everything so you can remember what happened. No guarantees that this story'll be finished anytime in the next decade, but we'll give it a shot, shall we?

For the fifth time that day, the caterwauling of the alarm jolted through the office. This was supposed to be a call to action—the aurors were supposed to rush to aid whoever was in trouble, prepared to fight and conquer insurmountable odds in the name of justice and safety. It was their job and their responsibility to battle the evils that faced the wizarding society.

Sirius, slumped over his desk with his head on his arms, didn't move.

Four alarms already today, and now the fifth was going off. They had spent the evening repairing the damage done by a Muggle airplane that had been hexed by Dark Magic—it had crashed into the outskirts of London, killing everyone on board and another hundred on the ground. They had had to convince the Muggle officials who arrived that the crash was caused by an abrasion on the wing and modify the memories of hundreds of frantic people who had seen a grotesquely grinning skull, formed of eerie green stars, hovering in the air above the wreckage. Sirius had moved through the billows of acrid smoke, digging through charred remains of plastic and twisted metal for survivors, with grim determination written across his face and no trace of emotion visible. He had learned, over the past few months, that it was easier if he didn't permit himself to feel.

"Let's go!" Mad-Eye Moody's voice roared through the auror office. "Get a move on, people's lives are depending on you!"

The men and women around him were standing up, throwing their cloaks over their shoulders, seizing their wands, preparing to Apparate. Slowly, Sirius got to his feet, his hair disheveled and his step heavy with exhaustion.

"We don't know the nature of the problem," Moody was saying loudly to the weary group around him. "An anonymous tipster said there was going to be a Muggle attack at 1098 Snowflake Circle, a few miles east of here."

Sirius had wondered, while cleaning up the debris of the wreckage, what kind of panic had hit the passengers in their last few moments, when they realized that their plane was plummeting down, down, dragging them with it to their deaths. In this moment, he thought he knew. The rest of Moody's words jumbled around in his head, void of meaning: he could not think; he could not breathe; he only stood there, the address reverberating through his mind again and again.

1098 Snowflake Circle was Lily's parents' house.

Moody was staring at him, sensing that something was wrong, as though his electric blue eyeball could see to the very core of his emotions. "What is it, Black?" the older auror demanded sharply. His tone was gruff, but it held an unusual note of concern and apprehension.

Sirius, a tremor of dread and anguish in his voice, whispered, "Lily and James."

Moody's eyes held his for a long moment, and Sirius knew that he understood his agony: he knew how much it hurt him to waste even a fraction of a second when his best friend's life hung in the balance.

"I can't let you go," Moody said quietly, without emotion. "We don't know any details about the situation—it could be a trap. We have to close in on the house slowly and come down in force."

"I don't need your permission," Sirius answered hoarsely, snatching his wand from his desk. "I'm going—not as an auror, but as someone whose best friend may be about to die, if he hasn't already."

He didn't wait for Moody's response; he didn't want to know if anyone would try to stop him. Without even glancing back at his colleagues, he Disapparated.

As he dashed up the path in front of James' in-laws' house, taking the steps up the porch in a single stride, he automatically absorbed everything surrounding him. The front door hung open, the hall inside a gaping, dark hole. That was a bad sign. He lit the tip of his wand and held it before him as he moved swiftly into the house, his eyes darting warily into each room as he passed. The lights were off—maybe that was a good sign, maybe it meant they weren't at home. Maybe…

The door to the kitchen stood open at the end of the hall, and Sirius could see a pale pool of moonlight gleaming coldly on the tile floor within. There was something eerily foreboding about the image: a chill quivered up his spine, and he halted nervously before entering, his fingers tingling with anxiety, listening hard.

Inside, over the quiet chugging of the dishwasher, he heard someone's ragged breathing.

_James, _he thought, and before another rational consideration could occur to him, he leapt into the room.

For the first few seconds, he could only stand there, the scene before him numbing his mind. Catharine's lifeless body sprawled out on the floor. William slumped, unmoving, against the wall, a bloody gash across his forehead. James….

James, kneeling in the middle, grasping clumps of his hair in anguished fists, his shoulders wracked with silent sobs.

"James," was all Sirius could think to say.

"He took Lily," James answered, his voice tortured and pleading. "She's gone, he took her…"

"Who took her?"

"Voldemort."

"_Voldemort?" _Sirius demanded with a sharp intake of breath. His hand clenched tighter around his wand."Where is he?"

James' reply was barely a whisper. "Gone."

"I'll tell you what this looks like, mate," Sirius said hoarsely.

"I know what it looks like," James answered hollowly, raising his anguished face to meet his friend's eyes. "Good God, you know I wouldn't—"

A spell hit Sirius from the direction of the hall, hurling him against the cabinets. He scrambled for the wand that had been knocked out of his hand, but he realized too late that he had been disarmed; one of the aurors that had poured into the room had pocketed it.

"Check the grounds!"

"Don't let anyone get away!"

"Dolohov, test the premises for potentially harmful enchantments."

"My word—James Potter?"

"Drop your wand!" one of them snarled.

James let it clatter lifelessly to the ground.

"BLACK!"

Moody was stumping into the kitchen, his eyes fixed furiously on Sirius. "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WERE YOU THINKING?" he demanded. "YOU WENT THROUGH THREE YEARS OF TRAINING AND MANAGED TO FORGET IT ALL IN HALF A SECOND'S RECKLESSNESS! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED, DAMMIT—"

Sirius, stunned and breathing hard, choked out, "Wait—"

"—WHAT THE HELL GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO JEOPARDIZE THE LIVES OF YOUR COLLEAGUES? WHAT MADE YOU THINK YOU HAD A BETTER CHANCE ON YOUR OWN THAN WE WOULD HAVE HAD TOGETHER? YOUR DAMNED RECKLESSNESS, BLACK, I TRIED FOR THREE YEARS TO BLEED IT OUT OF YOU—AND THIS IS WHAT I GET?"

Two others aurors entered the kitchen at that moment. "We've searched the yard," one of them said wearily, "and we've checked the house: nobody else is on the premises. It's definitely a Muggle residence, but it has all sorts of magical protections set up, as though a wizard lived here with them—there are anti-Apparition spells all over the place, which is why we couldn't Apparate directly in here."

"Give me that," Moody said gruffly, taking James' wand from the man who had picked it up. He withdrew his own, a short one made of yew, and put the tips of the two together.

"_Prior Incantato_," he whispered.

A thread of black smoke twisted up above them, coiling and writhing slowly into a distinct shape. The image it formed was a skeletal figure swathed in a black, hooded cloak, carrying a scythe.

Sirius' breath caught in his chest as Moody grimly waved the smoke away with a muttered spell. "The last incantation cast by this wand was the Killing Curse," he said tonelessly, stowing it in his pocket.

"Wait," Sirius groaned, staggering to his feet and pushing through the circle of aurors. "You've got the wrong man."

"Black," Moody growled, "get back."

Sirius whirled on him. "Get back?" he spat incredulously. "_You _don't think he did this, do you?"

Moody glared at him silently, and Sirius knew that the grizzled auror couldn't voice what he was thinking. "You know that some of these men—willingly or not—are in league with You-Know-Who," he would have said if they were alone. "If you try to defend James now, then when he's convicted, they'll charge you abetting a criminal and land you in prison, too—and that's not going to help him."

Sirius didn't care. If James was arrested now, there was no chance of keeping him from going to prison: Voldemort had too many cronies on the Wizengamot and enough gold to buy whatever verdict he pleased. And once he was in Azkaban—well, once he was in Azkaban, there was no coming back.

He was scanning the room, his mind flashing through possible ways for both of them to escape, when his eyes met James'. They were hauling him to his feet, preparing to drag him off to a holding cell to be interrogated and await trial. His body was half-limp, as if he had lost any will to fight back, and his head hung miserably, but as the aurors forced him to his feet, he looked up, right at Sirius, and managed a hoarse whisper.

"Find Lily."

This was not what Sirius wanted to hear. He wanted to pummel the men who dared lay hands on his best friend, to laugh in the face of the authority of a justice corrupted by evil, to be arrested too, if only to be there next to James right through to the very end. Lily was as dear to him as Remus or Peter, but when it came to a choice between her and his best friend…

Yet he found himself nodding.

When they took him away, their gazes met one more time, and Sirius knew that by holding it, he was sealing a promise to do as he had said he would. Moody was issuing orders and the aurors moved around him, but he could only stand there, dazed.

It was Moody's hand on his shoulder that brought him crashing back to reality. A hushed whisper, while those around them were too busy to hear: "Go to Dumbledore. He needs to know."

The words sank slowly in, and it took several long moments for him to react. The first sensation was relief: the tension that had building inside of him was given a small outlet by having something to do.

As he stepped outside, however, into the cool night air of a world that seemed blissfully ignorant of what had passed inside the house, he was hit by a hot surge of anger. It was always Dumbledore. Even now, after he had been out of school for two years, he was still supposed to run to Dumbledore to solve his problems, as if he were still a student whose biggest concerns were his Transfiguration grade and the outcome of the next Quidditch match. Well, they weren't in school anymore—they were in a society that was teetering on the brink of a bloody war and oppressive dictatorship, and out here, Dumbledore was just a man like anyone else. _He's not a god, _Sirius thought fiercely. _He can't fix everything._

He knew he was being irrational. Dumbledore was the head of the Order of the Phoenix, and as such he needed to know about this. Besides, if anyone could turn the tide in James' favor, surely it was he—no one had as much influence in the Ministry as did Albus Dumbledore. Maybe this was the only escape his mind could find from dwelling on what it wanted to.

But it grated on his nerves that he always had to consult him before making a move.

He Apparated to the path directly in front of the Hogwarts gates. His head was pounding and his vision was slightly blurred, and he didn't think it was just from being thrown against the cabinets by a disarming spell. Images flashed vividly before his eyes—Voldemort, wand held above Catharine Evans, leering down at James—Voldemort, his long, spidery fingers clamped around Lily's wrist—Voldemort, laughing as he murdered William in front of his family's eyes—he imagined it with such clarity as if he had really been there. Who knew how it had happened? But it didn't matter: what mattered was that Catharine and William were dead, Lily was gone, and James—James was condemned by the evidence of his own wand.

He wanted to forget, to lose his fear, anger, and pain in the swift, methodic movement of his feet. In the darkness, he saw shapes leap out at him from his imagination, pounding through his head as though forcing him to remember the scene that he wished he could erase: that of James, kneeling on the floor, his fists clenched in anguish and his face white and bloodless, as though he still saw Voldemort standing before him.

The passageway outside the headmaster's office was quiet and serene, as though nothing from the outside could perturb the peace of the castle. He spat out the password at the stone gargoyle, breathing as though he had been running, and waited restlessly for it to open. As though sensible of his hurry, the figure yawned, stretched, blinked lazily at him, and finally ambled slowly out of the way.

Sirius knew that Dumbledore would never have to put up with insolence from a hunk of granite, but he was too preoccupied to give the statue a good hexing. Mounting the stairs in a few quick strides, he found himself on the landing outside the headmaster's door. He rapped twice on the solid wood and stepped inside without waiting for an answer.

Dumbledore did not immediately look up from his desk; he was intently focused on a letter in his lap. When moments later he lifted his gaze, he smiled and motioned for him to sit down. "Have a seat, Sirius. I'll be with you in a minute."

"No," Sirius answered, ignoring the chair that had been offered to him, "it can't wait. James and Lily have been attacked."

Dumbledore froze, his gaze locked onto Sirius' face, and for a fraction of a second, Sirius glimpsed how much despair and weariness lay on his shoulders.

"Attacked," he answered hollowly.

"Voldemort showed up at her mum and dad's house. William and Catharine Evans are dead."

The headmaster put his head in his hands. "And—Lily and James?" he asked haltingly.

"He took Lily with him—God knows where—and framed James for the murders."

"You were there?"

"No. We came on an anonymous tip that there was going to be an attack there."

"Probably sent in by a Death Eater," Dumbledore said grimly. "Voldemort doesn't do things by halves."

"We showed up to find James the only one in the house—the only one alive, that is. It certainly _looked _like he had murdered them… and… and they did a Hex Test on his wand. The last spell it performed was the Killing Curse."

Dumbledore groaned.

"They hauled him off to the Ministry to await trial. There's no way he's going to get acquitted—it's bad enough that half the Wizengamot is in the palm of Voldemort's hand, and with evidence like that against him…"

"Wait here," the headmaster commanded abruptly, rising from his chair and picking up his cloak. He moved toward the fire and seized a pinch of Floo powder from a basin on the mantelpiece. "Alastor knows?" he asked as he stepped into the emerald flames.

"Yeah," Sirius answered. "Where are you going?"

"To the Ministry of Magic."

There was a last flash of his purple cloak, and then he was gone, leaving Sirius alone with the portraits of past headmasters pretending to snooze on the walls.


	18. Chapter 18

**Juneaua: Sorry we take so freaking long to get these things up. Life has a way of knocking you over sometimes. **

**Music today is "Next to Normal," which is the current obsession **

The rusty grinding of the holding cell door grated against James's blurred senses, knocking him from his tortured thoughts into a more painful reality.

He looked around, blinking in the gloom of the cell. He had no idea where he was. Not Askaban. Surely not yet. Not without a trial.

"What are you in for?"

James jumped, looking around. A burly man in a ragged overcoat was sitting with his back against the wall. A second man, nearly as tall standing as the first was sitting, leaned beside him. They were both staring at James.

In response to the blank look on James's face, the burly man repeated, "What are you in for? Why're you here?"

"I shouldn't be," James explained, keeping the panic rising inside him in check with difficulty. "This is a mistake."

"It's never a mistake, lad," the burly man said. "If you're here, it's 'cause they want you here. They don't make mistakes." It took James a moment to realize that the 'they' he spoke of wasn't the ministry or the aurors. "So what did you do?"

"They think I…they think I killed my wife…"James choked on the words, unable to fathom the accusation. "And her family…" He looked at the two men, suddenly desperate for someone to hear his proclamation of innocence. "But it wasn't me. I swear to God it wasn't me!"

The burly man shrugged, looking away. The smaller never dropped his eyes from James's face.

James stared at him. "Don't you believe me?"

"Well," the burly man produced a cigarette from behind his ear and drew a lighter from the tattered folds of his coat. "It all depends on where you draw the line between right and wrong I suppose. Is it only a crime if your mind's behind what you're doing and not just your body?" He lit his cigarette, illuminating for a moment the five o' clock shadow draped across his chin. "What was her name?"

James stared at him. "Who?"

The man took another drag. "Your wife."

Anger flared inside James. "That's none of your damn business," he snapped.

The man shrugged again. "Perhaps not." They were silent for a moment, the man taking a long thoughtful puff of his cigarette before he offered abruptly, "They told me I killed my three year old twins. Reckon I did too. Imperius curse, I think. That's the game You-Know-Who plays. He takes everything from you until you think you have nothing left to lose. Then he shows you how much you really have left." He took another drag. "This fellow," he gestured at the small man next to him. "Murdered twenty Muggles after Death Eaters threatened to kill his family if he didn't. Killed them anyways afterwards."

The man's casual tone appalled James, and he turned away, disgusted.

The burly man noticed, and he laughed. "What? Do you expect me to be a little more somber? You can't risk feeling, kid, not in times like these. It hurts too much when you lose."

"That's the price of love, I guess," James replied, sinking down against the wall across from the man. "The price of love is loss. But it must be worth it because we take the risk and pay the price and love anyway."

The burly man studied his face in the pale glow of the cigarette. He took one last drag, then ground it out of the floor of the cell. "What was her name?" he asked again, gentler.

James stared down at his hands, clasped together and trembling. "Lily," he answered softly. "Lily Potter."

-- -- --

It was like a scene from his worst nightmare magnified one hundred fold.

Chained, trapped, and vulnerable, facing down the stoic faces of the entire Wizengamot, James was helpless.

Even with Dumbledore beside him, his hand on James's shoulder, he knew somehow that he was already lost.

A stony silence was already hanging over the court, yet the sharp pounding of the gavel signaling the start of the proceedings seemed to intensify it. Barty Crouch, stone faced and stoic as ever, stood, his black robes billowing around him, swallowing his portly frame. "The court will now hear the case of James Edward Potter, accused of murder in the first degree of William Evans, Catherine Evans, and Lily Evans Potter on the twelfth day of December, in the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and eighty. How does the defendant plead?"

James looked up, swallowing hard over the lump in his throat. "Not guilty," he croaked, his voice cracked and hoarse.

A murmur of incredulity swept through the assembled witches and wizards. James felt Dumbledore's fingers tighten on his shoulder. Crouch pursed his lips, staring down his nose at James with distaste. "You have agreed to speak on his behalf, Albus?"

Dumbledore nodded curtly. "That I have, Barty."

Crouch nodded. "The Court will first hear the testimony of Alastor Moody, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

From the middle of the assembled crowd, Moody rose and stumped down to the floor of the court room, taking his place behind a small podium designated for the witnesses.

Crouch withdrew a long scroll from within his robes and consulted it before beginning questioning. "Alastor Moody, you were one of the first aurors present at the scene of the crime, correct?"

"Yeah," Moody growled. If he had known where Sirius was sitting, he would have glared at him. "That's right."

"And you were the one who performed the Prior Incantato spell or 'hex test' on Mr. Potter's wand, correct?"

"Yes."

"And the last curse that came from that wand was…" Crouch raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Moody shifted his weight, uncomfortable with the answer. "The Killing Curse."

"And there were no Death Eaters or anyone else present at the scene when you arrived?"

"No, but—"

Crouch cut him off. "Then that evidence alone is enough to condemn James Potter." James felt his stomach constrict.

"Well, yeah, I suppose you could look at it that way," Moody replied gruffly. "But I think there's a piece of this we aren't seeing."

"And what would that be?" Crouch asked skeptically.

"Well," Moody scratched his nose. "To tell the truth, there hasn't been a lot of investigation put into this. Seems to me like someone among us is trying real hard to condemn James Potter before anyone looks too closely at this." If Moody noticed the disturbance that swept through the court he paid it no heed. "But let me just say this. I've known this kid for a long time. And he's one of the best. If you asked me the last person in the world I'd expect to betray his friends to You-Know-Who, my answer would be James Potter. This kid's loyal to the end."

"Yet haven't we seen, in countless cases, honest, loyal people, just like Mr. Potter, turning out to be just as honest and loyal to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as we thought they were to us?" Crouch stated curtly.

Moody opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. "All I'm saying is someone should look into this more before we jump to any—"

"That will be all, Mr. Moody, you may sit down." Crouch interrupted. Moody glared at him for a moment, then stumped back to his seat. Crouch shuffled his notes. "Do you have anything to say, Albus?"

"Not yet, Barty," Dumbledore replied. "I think I'll save my venom for the dramatic climax."

The line of Crouch's pursed lips grew thinner. "Very well. The court will now hear the testimony of Sirius Black."

James's heart jumped again as Sirius stood from the back corner of the room and mounted the staircase. He met James's eye as he took his place behind the witness stand. Something inside of James was hoping that the somber look on Sirius's face was going to vanish and would be replaced by the boyish smile of reassuring that had always been etched into their childhood adventuring. But there was no boy in Sirius anymore. And this time, neither of them could find a spark of hope to light such darkness.

"Sirius Black," Crouch began, and Sirius's eyes left his friend's. "You are an intern under Mr. Moody in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Yes," Sirius responded, his voice almost as hoarse as James's had been.

"You also were one of the first on the scene after the attacks."

"Yes sir."

"And you also witnessed the Hex Test performed on James Potter's wand?"

"Yes sir."

"Then you also can testify that the last spell those wands performed was the Killing Curse."

Sirius couldn't speak. He only nodded.

"And when you arrived there was no living soul present in that room besides James Potter?"

"No sir."

"Mr. Black, you and Mr. Potter have been friends for quite some time, have you not?"

Sirius looked up, startled. "Since our first year at Hogwarts, sir."

"And you both keep each other quite informed as to the events of your respective lives, am I correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"According to the statement that James Potter has already given, You-Know-Who himself arrived at his wife's parent's house and murdered them and kidnapped Mrs. Potter. Now since you know Mr. Potter so well, was there any activity he was involved him that would cause He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to personally target him as a victim?"

"I—" Sirius stopped, seeing the trap. Revealing the Order's existence and James's involvement could give him the chance of freedom. But the spells guarding the Order's existence were too powerful. "I can't—he didn't—" he broke off, trapped. "Just because he didn't tell me doesn't mean he wasn't!"

"But he never gave you any cause to believe that he had done something that would cause You-Know-Who to hold a personal vendetta against him?"

"He never gave me any cause to believe he was a Death Eater either!" Sirius burst out furiously.

"Answer the question, Mr. Black," Crouch replied calmly.

Sirius face was burning. "Look, I know James as well as I know myself. I know who he is, and I know who isn't. And I damn well know he isn't a Death Eater. I could find you hundreds of people willing to stand in front of you and tell you what a great man he is, how loyal and caring and selfless he is. I'm not the only one who would tell you James has saved their life. And I'm not the only one who would swear on their life that James loved Lily more than anything else in the world. He loved her, and would never murder her or her family. There's nothing on earth that could replace her in James's heart. Few men on this world posses the," he searched for the word. "The nobility of character that James has got. Not one of you so ready to condemn him can ever hope to be a half of the man he is."

James was astonished to hear the catch in Sirius's voice, and even more shocked to feel the prick of tears in his own eyes.

The court was silent for a long moment, the Crouch looked up very slowly from his notes. "You still haven't answered my question, Mr. Black."

Sirius looked up startled. "I…I think I've forgotten what it was…sir," he added coldly.

Crouch leaned backward, folding his arms across his chest. "Did He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named have any reason to personally target James Potter?"

Sirius bit his lip, turning his eyes skyward in desperation. "No," he replied softly at last. James felt his heart sink. "No. He didn't."

-- -- --

The hours of testimony that followed were, in James's opinion, completely pointless.

Before the trial had even begun, he had been condemned. All that was left was for them to sentence him.

After hearing men he didn't know speak for hours of the properties of _Priori Incantato_, the psychology of a killer, the protective spells existing around the Evan's home that would have kept Voldemort from entering, James knew his truth was shattered by their fabricated facts.

After the final testimony, Crouch again stood authoritatively. "We have now heard the testimonies of all the witnesses. Albus, do you have anything to say in Mr. Potter's defense?"

Dumbledore stepped forward, his hand leaving James's shoulder for the first time during the course of the trial. "Why yes Barty, I believe I do."

"Well then. Proceed." Crouch sat again, settling back in his chair casually as though already bored.

Dumbledore paused for a moment, weaving his long fingers together and tucking them into his beard thoughtfully before turning to address the court. "I'm afraid that everything I was preparing to say to defend the, as it was so correctly put, 'nobility of character' of James Potter has already been said by Mr. Black. It seems my thunder has been stolen." Despite the lightness of his tone, there was no twinkle in his eyes. "Today, we have heard the testimony of one man against many. And on the surface it may appear that the testimony of the accused has been ripped apart. But I would encourage you before reaching any decision to consider not only the facts that have been presented today, but also the facts that have not. As fond as we are of weaving complicated webs of stories and lies and truths, the simple fact we cannot ignore is that none of us were there when this crime took place except Mr. Potter. He alone truly knows what occurred on the night Catherine and William Evans were murdered and their daughter disappeared. And after hearing such favorable testimony of his integrity from both Mr. Moody and Mr. Black, if James says that Lord Voldemort personally murdered them and kidnapped Lily, then that's good enough for me. Allow me also to add my word to the testimony you have already heard of the incredible loyalty and integrity possessed by James Potter. And let me also testify of his undying love for Lily. Rarely are the hearts of two people bound as tightly as theirs were." He paused, and his glance flitted to James. "Are. I have no hesitation in standing before you and declaring just as firmly as James that he did not murder Lily and her parents. And if Lord Voldemort bears a personal grudge against James, then that is his own affair and not ours. It is not this court's job to determine the loyalty of a man to his friends, his love to his wife, or his own personal fight against evil. It is only our job to see that justice is administered. And sometimes justice means letting go of our preconceived notions and pride and letting the innocent live." He stood for a moment, allowing his words to resound throughout the room, then he nodded. "That will be all, Barty."

Crouch stood again. "Thank you, Dumbledore." He turned to address the Court. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you will now cast your votes."

James felt his muscles tense as each witch and wizard bent low, scribbling his or her answer on a small piece of parchment and then passing it down the row until it reached the desk of a short man sitting beside Crouch. After what seemed an eternity, the short man stood, checked to see that all the ballots had been cast, then flicked is wand at the stack of parchment before him. There was a small puff of smoke and a small scroll burst from the end of his wand and landed on his lectern. He unrolled it and scanned it quickly.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot," Crouch boomed. "In the case of James Edward Potter, charged with murder in the first degree, how do you find the defendant?"

The short man raised the scroll and read. "Twenty nine votes to one. The court finds James Potter guilty as charged."

The court began to buzz excitedly. Crouch rapped his gavel against his podium to restore order. "James Potter, the court finds you guilty as charged. Until your sentence is carried out, you will be held in Askaban prison. As punishment for your crime, in accordance with our laws, you have been sentenced to death, to be carried out in three days time." One final snap of his gavel split the silence that had descended over the chamber. "Court dismissed."

And James was lost.

Lost was any chance of finding Lily, of saving her.

Lost was any chance for their unborn child, for their life together.

Lost was every hope he'd every carried with him through life.

His life was lost.

As the witches and wizards assembled began to file out of the courtroom, two dementors glided silently forward and seized him by the arms, and the chains binding him to the chair disappeared. They roughly wrenched his limp form up, dragging him behind them as James staggered, failing to gain his footing on shaking legs.

From the back of the courtroom, Sirius leapt to his feet with a panicked cry and dashed forward, staggering down the stairs, half blinded by tears. Halfway down, rough hands caught him, dragging him backwards. "No, Sirius."

Crying out like a wounded dog, Sirius struggled, his desperation turning to rage. "Let me go! JAMES! JAMES!"

The rough hands holding him whipped him around, and to his surprise Sirius found Moody pulling him into a fierce hug. "It's alright, Black. Just breathe."

Slowly, his struggling subsided and his body collapsed in shock and agony. "I just wanted to say goodbye," he whispered into Moody's shoulder.

"I know, kid. I know."

Behind him he could hear Remus, calm, composed Remus, distraught with fury that James had never seen in his friend before. "They can't do this! It's an outrage! It damn Crouch and his damn prejudice. He's willing to kill anyone it takes! They can't do this…not…" his voice cracked. "Not to James. Oh God, anyone but James."

And Arthur Weasely was beside him, as helpless as the rest, trying desperately to provide comfort for a pain that was beyond ease. Beside Remus, Peter sat, stunned. He hadn't moved since the verdict had been read. The only sign of life in him was the lone tear shimmering down his cheek.

"They can't do this," Remus whispered over and over, staggering and collapsing against the bench behind him. "They can't…dear God…Anyone but James."

The Dementors halted just before reaching the door, and James looked up to find Dumbledore blocking their path.

"Professor," James whispered hoarsely. "What are we going to do?"

_Please, _James begged silently. _Tell me it's going to be alright._

But there was no spark in Dumbledore's eyes. Only a great weariness. "I think,"

he replied slowly. "That this time, James, we may have lost."

James felt his throat constrict painfully. "How can you say that?" he asked

desperately. "How can you give up? Dumbledore, they're going to kill me! He's going to kill Lily! He's going to kill my child!"

The dementors were pressing forward again, forcing Dumbledore aside, an

dragging James with them. He twisted in their arms, struggling to keep Dumbledore in view. "What am I supposed to do Dumbledore? TELL ME WHAT THE HELL I'M SUPPOSED TO DO!"

But Dumbledore simply gazed at him, the intense gaze that had seen through

James so many times before and now once again pierced his anger to reveal only fear, his eyes steady and straight forward. "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death," he whispered softly. "And now is your time to fight."


	19. Chapter 19

Voldemort's long fingers, spidery, pale, and unbelievably strong, didn't release Lily's wrist when the bands of Apparition relinquished their hold. She fell to her knees, hardly able to breathe; the nausea had returned in full force, and she was still reeling in shock at the horror of what she had just witnessed. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, but she would not let them fall—she would not give him the pleasure of seeing her broken.

Keeping his hand clamped around her wrist, he pulled her to her feet with a callous laugh. "I have something to show you."

She wrenched her arm out of his grasp, but this show of defiance only made him laugh harder. "Oh, Lily Potter," he sneered, his lip curling in malice. "Bold, brave, naïve Lily Potter, did no one tell you? This isn't school anymore. Albus Dumbledore"—he spat the name—"isn't running to save you. I'm not going to make the same mistake as last time, letting you run off on nothing but a mere promise that you would do as I asked—not now. I won't trust you this time."

"Our agreement wasn't exactly based on trust," she answered, standing up warily. She had swallowed her tears and forced back her nausea. It shocked her how emotionless her voice sounded. It was empty, hollow….

He chuckled. "You're wrong. I trusted you to help me decode that journal, you trusted me to give you your cherished secret once I did. I would have kept my promise."

"Only to murder me later."

"Possibly."

"Get on with it, then," she challenged. "I don't know why it's taken you so long."

"I've already told you,." he said softly. "Death is too good for you. Let me show you something."

He moved to a desk that stood in the middle of the room, and for the first time, Lily glanced around to take in her surroundings. It was not the study that she and James had escaped from two and a half years before, yet it was similar: rows of shelves lined the walls, with a fireplace behind the desk. The fire, however, glowed with green flames: not the cheery emerald green of Floo Powder, but the sickly, pallid green of the Dark Mark. It made the room flicker eerily, rather than lending it the light and warmth that a fire was supposed to bring. Instead of books, the shelves around her were lined with black velvet and stocked with shadowed, sinister objects—a misshapen skull, a ragged noose, stacks of ancient, dilapidated papers, black candles, a curved sword whose hilt was filigreed with silver and jade. The carpet was worn, faded, and smelling of mold and decaying grandeur.

He noticed her glance as he picked up a marble sphere from the surface of the desk. "Ah, yes," he intoned, tossing the ball nonchalantly into the air and catching it again. "This is my real study. The other one is something of a decoy. You may notice that this room has no door: I am the only one who can Apparate in or out. I doubt there are five wizards in the history of magic who could break through the spells I've set around it."

Lily read the subtle meaning of his words in his eyes. She had no hope of escape.

The sphere he held in his hand looked like marble from a distance, but as Lily watched, the dark gray surface swirled as though it were some sort of crystal ball. Voldemort snapped his fingers and a slender key appeared between them. He replaced the sphere on his desk, inserted the key into a minute hole at the top, turned it a full three times, and stepped back.

"_Patefacio_," he murmured.

The orb began gyrating like a top upon the surface, slowly rising into the air. It swelled to three times its size, pulsed with an erratic glow, and then opened. This is so wacky…

Voldemort reached in, withdrew something small and gold, and closed it again. It fell, a dead sphere of marble, at his feet.

"This belonged to Salazar Slytherin," he said softly, an elliptical locket dangling from his thin middle finger. "A gift from the woman he loved. He was a lord, she the younger daughter of a king, and she gave him this ornament as a token of her enduring devotion and faithfulness. She was pregnant with his child when he discovered that her lineage was not what she had claimed: she was descended from a pure wizarding line on her father's side, but her mother—her mother was a foul Muggle. Heartbroken, enraged, he slaughtered her and the abomination growing within her, vowing that no half-blood child would soil the purity of his line. He returned to wed a woman whose ancestry was uncontaminated and who would provide him with many pure-blooded children, but he kept this locket next to his heart at all times, as a bitter reminder that love leads only to pain, and that trust leads only to betrayal."

Lily unconsciously pressed a hand to her abdomen.

"Yes," he laughed softly, clenching the locket in the palm of his hand, "there is an atrocity growing within you, too. The honor of the Potter line has been violated, his purity mingled with your Mudblood filth. The ancient lineage of the Potters will end with your beloved; better to wipe it out entirely than to see it tainted with the birth of your son."

"James doesn't care," she whispered. "He knows that I'm Muggle-born, and he doesn't care."

"I know," Voldemort hissed, "and he will die for it."

He picked up something from his desk and tossed it to her. "One of my connections at the _Daily Prophet _has already arranged tomorrow morning's paper," he said coldly. "He was kind enough to send me an advance copy."

Heart suddenly pounding in her throat, Lily unfurled the newspaper he had given her. In condemning, final letters across the top, the headline declared, "MUGGLE FAMILY MURDERED; WIZARD SON-IN-LAW ARRESTED."

"James Potter will stand trial in two days' time," Voldemort said quietly as Lily's hands began to tremble. "The Ministry is conveniently charging him with your murder as well—I didn't even plan that. When he is convicted, he will be sentenced to death."

Lily sobbed involuntarily.

"I want you to be alive for every moment of it," he hissed, watching her closely as tears began to slide down her cheeks. "I want you feel every stab of agony your husband endures. I want you to witness his execution, and know that your betrayal of me brought it upon him."

She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears. _Be strong, _she chided herself. _He can only break you if you let him._

"Until then," he whispered, picking up the marble orb from the floor and replacing the locket in it, "you will stay here. I wouldn't touch anything—it could be… unpleasant."

He walked around to the other side of his desk and put down the marble stone. His eyes met hers one more time, and they seemed to laugh maliciously at her pain. "I never forget, Lily Potter," he hissed.

Then he was gone.

-- -- --

No one had ever broken out of Azkaban.

Sirius knew that. Perched on an island of coal-black, jagged rocks, the mighty stone fortress reared up against a perpetually stormy sky. The towering walls were lined with obsidian spikes, and on the battlements every ten meters hovered the awful form of a dementor. Two imposing pillars flanked the enormous oaken doors—doors that never opened, a reminder to each helpless criminal who stood before them of the dreadful permanence of his imprisonment.

The only way onto or off of the island was a single ferryboat, tightly controlled by officials from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and guarded, like everything anywhere near Azkaban, by dementors. It made one trip a day, bringing prisoners and visitors alike to the island to allow them into the fortress.

Sirius pulled his long Muggle trench coat more tightly around his shoulders and stared broodingly out over the ocean as the spray whipped up around the hull. The water's surface was choppy, and the prow cut through each wave with a splash as the ferry skimmed toward the dark mass huddled against the distant horizon. _Too far for any man to swim, _he thought grimly as he gazed at it.

To his right, at the back of the boat, stood a line of four miserable looking prisoners, chained to each other and flanked by the tall, hooded forms of two dementors. Two ministry officials stood in the prow, one guiding the craft across the waves and the other keeping stern watch over the deck. Only one other person was visiting the island, a woman who looked to be in her mid-forties with a lined and weary face. She sat on the opposite side of the boat, her head in her hands.

The black island grew steadily closer, until Sirius could make out the fortress atop it. He shifted his feet; he could feel himself getting nervous.

Fifteen minutes later, the hull nosed up against the decaying wood of the dock. One of the ministry officials leapt out and secured it there with a rope. He motioned for Sirius and the woman to wait as the dementors led the sorrowful line of bedraggled prisoners off of the boat and toward the imposing tower across the rocks. When they were gone, Sirius gestured to the woman, whose shoulders were hunched against the chilling wind. "Go ahead," he said, motioning for her to go first.

"Thank you," she mumbled, stepping onto the pier.

Sirius glanced around; the ministry officials were deep in conversation, and the dementors were halfway to the doors of the prison with their captives. Making sure they weren't paying attention, he stepped onto the deck and slipped his hand into his coat.

The rat that was curled in the bottom of his pocket squirmed obligingly up his sleeve. Sirius made a show of bending down to tie his shoelace; with a flick of its tail, the rodent disappeared into a hole between the worn slats of the pier. He straightened up and shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking.

The dementors led the prisoners to stand on a slab of stone that was raised about a foot off the ground. Sirius had read about this: they called it the Portcullis, a sort of Apparition device that transported people from the island outside to the stone corridors within—it was the only way to get in or out of the fortress. As he walked toward it, the inmates standing atop it vanished suddenly, into the recesses of the prison before them. His stomach clenched when he thought that for most of them, it would be the last breath of fresh air they ever took.

Another ministry official appeared on top a moment later. "Welcome to Azkaban," he said with a bored, derisive tone in his voice, as if he heard and scorned the contradiction inherent in his words. "Visitors must surrender all personal belongings before entering. Please stand still."

Sirius felt a horrible chill run up his spine as one of the dementors glided forward and seemed to look him over. The creature gestured to the official and then to Sirius' pockets: the official dug in and withdrew Sirius' wand, a small mirror, and a notebook.

"They will be kept here until you return and retrieve them," he said dully, waving him forward and beginning to check the woman. "Please step onto the stone and wait for a moment."

Sirius did as he was bidden, shivering from cold and edginess. As the dementors and the other man were searching the woman, Sirius glanced down; he heard the patter of tiny paws leap onto the rock and up the leg of his pants, hidden from view. The official helped the woman onto the stone slab, stood on it himself, and then nodded at the dementors. The hooded figures began circling the three in the middle, and guttural whispering sounds, almost like a chant, began to emanate from them. Feeling his vision dissolve, Sirius was momentarily disoriented, but then his sight returned and he found himself in a long hallway, surrounded by many more dementors.

Before now, the memory Sirius was forced to recall every time he came in contact with one of the Azkaban guards was the morning, more than three years ago, that Voldemort had tortured him for refusing to join him. Now the image that swam to mind was that of James, kneeling in tortured agony beside the bodies of his wife's parents, then bound by heavy chains to a chair, his head hung in utter hopelessness while the wizarding world for which he had sacrificed so much passed condemning judgment and doomed him to die.

_Don't think about that, _Sirius berated himself, gritting his teeth against the chilling cold that seeped under his skin. _We're going to get him out of here._

"Who're you here to see?" a man coming down the hallway asked him disinterestedly.

"James Potter," Sirius answered quietly.

The man glanced at him, but if there was a question in his eyes, he did not speak it aloud. "Follow me," he grunted, turning around and starting back toward the end of the hallway.

Sirius did, listening carefully. Every few seconds he could catch the sound of scurrying paws somewhere nearby, and he struggled to force himself to relax. They had made it this far—surely the rest wouldn't be too hard.

"Wait here a moment."

The man had led him into a tiny, damp room whose air smelled stale and musty. A rickety chair stood against one wall; on the one across from it were two heavy metal rings, set deep into the stone. It was lit only by a single, dim torch in a rusty sconce on the wall. Sirius, taking in his surroundings, shuddered and hunched his shoulders, trying not to allow the misery of the place to work its way into his mind. How would James fare in a rotting hole like this? Sirius had been on the island for less than a quarter hour, and he already felt the despair that permeated everything—his best friend had weathered it for nearly two days now.

Two days gone. Only one left.

_Don't think about that! _he thought, angry with himself for letting his thoughts stray so easily.

Not knowing what else to do, he sank onto the edge of the chair. A moment later, the rat scampered into the room and leapt onto his lap. Sirius could hear footsteps coming; hurriedly, he seized the rat and slipped it into the pocket of his trench coat. Just as the tail disappeared, the man returned.

"You have fifteen minutes," he said curtly. "Make good use of it."

Sirius could hear the rattling breath of approaching dementors. A moment later, two of them glided through the doorway, half-dragging, half-carrying the despondent form of James.

He had never seen his friend so broken.

James was dressed in what had once been a bright orange prison robe, but it had turned a pallid color of dirt with age and use. The old scars he had acquired during his seventh year at Hogwarts were more pronounced than ever, drawing ghastly lines across his face and making him look ragged and feral. His skin was pale, drawn, and dirty, and his eyes—when Sirius met his eyes, the emptiness in them shocked him.

"James," he croaked hoarsely.

Iron shackles were locked around his wrists, and the dementors secured them to the thick rings set into the wall. The ministry official left, and the hooded forms moved to stand on either side of the door.

"How are you, mate?" Sirius asked softly, standing up.

James chuckled, hollow and weary. "What kind of question is that?"

"How're you holding up?"

"Honestly?" James leaned his head against the wall behind him and closed his eyes. "I'm losing my mind."

"Dumbledore's trying to get an appeal."

"Bully for him."

"You don't care?"

"It won't work."

"We can try."

He laughed again, and this time there was a manic edge to it. "Go ahead."

A moment of silence.

"I'm going to be there," Sirius said quietly.

"Where?"

"Tomorrow."

James looked up sharply. "Don't come."

"Why not?"

"It won't do any good… for either of us."

"I don't care."

"Don't come," James growled, glaring at him.

"You can't stop me."

"DON'T COME!" he exploded, the fetters rattling as he strained against them. "THERE'S NO REASON FOR YOU TO SEE IT—IT WILL BREAK YOU, SIRIUS, YOU KNOW IT WILL!"

"I don't care!"

"YOU'LL HAVE IT BAD ENOUGH WITHOUT HAVING TO WATCH, DAMMIT!" His shoulders shook, and he slumped against the wall, fighting back tears. "I don't want to see you," he said weakly. "I don't want to have to think about what I'm losing."

Another moment of silence.

"Did you find Lily?" James whispered, raising his eyes to meet his friend's.

Slowly, Sirius shook his head.

James shrugged, a gesture laden with every feeling that hung in the air: despondency, misery, submission, anguish, hopelessness. "She's probably already dead," he whispered.

"Don't say that," Sirius snapped sternly. "We'll find her."

"Then find her," James muttered. "Don't waste your time on me."

Sirius strode forward and enveloped James in a desperate embrace, not caring whether it was against the rules of the prison. "I'm not giving up on you," he whispered.

He felt one of the dementors approaching, probably to break them apart, but he paid it no heed. He knew he had to hold on just long enough….

There. The rat had squirmed out of his jacket pocket and down the neck of James' robe, its tail vanishing just moments before the scabby, pale hand of the Azkaban guard latched onto Sirius' shoulder. James' eyes widened as he felt the rat nestle against his skin.

"Pete—"

Sirius' eyes flashed warningly, cutting him off as the dementor pulled him away. Its grip was not rough, but it was deathly cold and commanding, and he had no choice but to obey it. It seemed to have decided that his time was up; it forced him to the doorway, leaving James standing beside the wall, looking slightly stunned. Sirius turned one last time to his best friend before the dementor forced him into the corridor outside.

"I'll be there, James," he said, voice breaking. "I promised I'd always be there for you."


	20. Chapter 20

_**So in case you didn't notice, Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince movie came out this week. And if you're interested I got to see it a day early. But that's another story. The point is, it got me a bit excited about this little story, so I thought I'd give it a shot at another chapter ;) **_

_**Love, J**_

_**Music is going to be…hm…I'm thinking Glen Hansard **_

As the door of his cell snapped shut, James felt the rat crawl out from the neck of his robes and leap off his shoulder onto the ground at his feet. He staggered backward, collapsing weakly against the stone wall, and closed his eyes, silent until he heard the click of the rat's claws against the cold floor soften to the soles of shoes.

"Hello, Peter," he said softly, his eyes still closed.

"Blimey Jim, you look bloody awful," Peter croaked.

"Nice to see you too, mate," James replied dully.

"I have something for you," Peter said quietly. "From Dumbledore."

James opened his eyes and accepted the small piece of parchment Peter drew from his robes and extended toward him. He scanned it quickly, his expression never changing. When he finished, he merely stared at the thin, slanting handwriting for a long moment, then crumpled it up and threw it into a corner of the small cell.

"What did it say?" Peter asked, failing to conceal the shock in his voice.

"It said Dumbledore's gonna burst in and save the day," James choked bitterly. "And then we're all going to live happily ever after."

"Come on James. Don't be like that," Peter said gently.

"Well, what am I supposed to be like?" James snapped.

They both stared at the parchment for a moment, silent, then James dropped his head into his hands with a soft moan. Peter walked slowly over to the corner and picked up the discarded scrap, smoothing it carefully and reading it. "James," he said after a moment of careful consideration. "I think—"

"It won't work, Peter," James snapped, not looking up. "I'm finished. It's over. I wish you'd all just let me die in peace."

Peter stared at him. "Listen to yourself. Listen to what you're saying. Where's the James Potter I knew?"

"There's no point fighting a battle you can't win!" James burst out, his head jerking up.

"But at least you fought," Peter replied weakly, casting his eyes away from his friend. James didn't respond. Still holding the parchment, Peter sank down against the wall beside James. "You give up now, you're not just giving up on yourself. You're giving up on me, and Sirius, and Remus, and Dumbledore, and the whole Order. You're giving up on everything you've worked for your whole life. You're giving up on Lily."

James looked up sharply. Peter swallowed nervously and continued slowly, "Maybe it'll work, maybe it won't…but you'll never know unless you try." Peter once again extended the rumpled piece of parchment to James. He stared at it for a long moment, then slowly took it, studying it once again.

"Can you remember what he said?" Peter asked. James nodded slowly. "Then why not try it?" Peter asked.

"Because I don't want to walk to my death tomorrow," James replied hoarsely, "thinking it isn't really going to happen, and that I'm going to live to see another day. Not ready to let go. Because there's too great a chance it won't work. I don't want to die thinking I still have time."

"So you're saying you want to die hopeless?" Peter countered.

"No, I just—" James paused. "If it's going to end, I want to be ready for it."

Peter nodded. They sat in silence for a long while, the cries and moans of prisoners in adjacent cells echoing around them.

"I just wish I'd known," James said softly. "I wish I had one more day to say goodbye, you know, and really tell everyone I loved how much I cared. Just one more day to do everything for the last time, and say goodbye to the world… and everything."

Peter nodded, not knowing what to say.

"I've been thinking a lot about… you know… dying," James said slowly. "And I don't… I don't think I'm afraid of it. I'm just… not ready yet. And I wish I had more time. But I think… I think, when it happens, it's going to be a lot like something we do every day."

Peter looked sideways at his friend. A strange calm had settled over James's pale face. " You mean… like falling asleep?"

James shook his head, eyes forward. "No… like waking up."

-- -- --

Sirius looked up as the familiar chill of dementors seized the room. Three of them swept silently in, dragging behind them James, his hands chained in front of him, looking as pale and desperate as he had in Azkaban.

Sirius felt his stomach tighten, and he thought for a moment he might throw up. Whatever Dumbledore had planned, whatever message he had sent with Peter, Sirius knew was only a small shadow of hope for James's survival. Dumbledore himself had admitted the plan was a risk, and relied on factors beyond their control. But it was all they had.

James was dragged forward, the chain around his wrists fastened to a metal ring on the wall. As the dementors glided away, Sirius caught a flicker of movement near James's shoe, and the rat leapt from its hiding place and scurried across the floor, taking refuge behind Sirius's heel. Sirius looked down at the rat, then back at James, now standing alone and erect, like a solitary island in uncharted and stormy seas, facing death in the only way he knew how: with his head high.

"James Edward Potter," the familiar and piercing voice of Barty Crouch split the silent air. "You have been tried and found guilty of the murder of William Evans, Catherine Evans, and Lily Evans Potter. As punishment for these crimes, you have been sentenced to death. Today that sentence is to be carried out by Augustus Rookwood of the Department of Mysteries.

Rookwood, the room's only other occupant, stepped forward, his hand flexing on his wand.

Crouch rolled up the scroll he had been reading from with a suffocating air of self importance. "Do you have any last words?"

James looked up sharply. "What?"

Crouch's mouth formed a thin line of irritation. "Do you have any last words?"

"Um," James closed his eyes, reaching backward and gripping the iron ring to which he was chained to steady himself on shaking legs. "Yes."

Crouch stared at him, expectantly. Sirius felt his stomach again jerk in painful dread. "Well?"

James opened his eyes, and looked not at Crouch, but to Sirius. There was no smile, no hope, no reassurance. Not even acceptance. Just the glimmer of parting, and all the things he never had the chance to say.

"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death," he whispered finally.

There was silence for a moment, then Crouch let out a short laugh. "How amusing," he sneered. "No doubt one of Dumbledore's amusing little aphorisms. You truly are Dumbledore's boy through and through, Potter. But looks like he isn't here to save you this time. The law has once again triumphed. Now then. Mr. Rookwood," James felt a painful jerk in his stomach. "Whenever you're ready."

It only took James a moment to realize that the twist in his stomach was not from fear. As Rookwood raised his wand, the colors of the room began to blur, spinning around him. He felt his feet leaving the ground, the bare room disappearing beneath him, the cry of "_Avada Kedavra!_" lost in a whirlwind of rushing sound pouring into his eardrums.

By the time the green light erupted from the end of Rookwood's wand, James Potter was gone.

-- -- --

After what felt like years, but could not have been more than moments, James' feet crashed into solid ground. Immediately, his shaking legs gave out under him, and he collapsed, trembling.

"Albus!" a voice cried from somewhere above him. He heard running footsteps, then felt someone sink to the ground beside him.

"James… James, can you hear me?"

_I'm alive… I'm still alive…_

His eyes snapped open. Dumbledore's face, etched with concern, swam into focus, Professor McGonagall hovering close behind him.

James felt like he was surfacing from water. He suddenly realized he was choking for air, like a man pulled drowning from a stormy sea. "Professor," he gasped, finding his voice at last.

"James, are you hurt?"

"No… I…" he wasn't sure if he was crying or laughing or a blissful mix of both. He sat up sharply, pushing away the dizziness still clouding him. "It worked! Merlin, it worked!" He reached out and pulled Dumbledore into a fierce hug, his words trapped in a throat clogged by emotion.

"I'm glad it did," Dumbledore said, and James could hear the note of relief in his voice. "Now lie back," Dumbledore pushed him gently away, forcing him back to the ground. "You've had a terrible ordeal, you need to relax. And take these off," Dumbledore waved his wand and the manacles still attached to James' wrists fell away.

James was still reeling. "The chains were a Portkey! I never would have… How did you… Professor, you truly are…" Again, impossible to continue.

Dumbledore smiled. "It was a terrible risk. I apologize for not presenting you with a more concrete means of escape."

"How did you do it?" James finally choked.

"Well most of it relied on you, James," Dumbledore replied evenly. "I realize my note was rather cryptic, for which I apologize, but any details more than what I gave you, including the exact phrase necessary to activate the Portkey, were too risky. It was your memory of the last words I spoke to you at the trial, as well as your willingness to trust me, that truly saved you."

James closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of the thick carpet of Dumbledore's office against every inch of his body, his senses alive in a way that only death could stimulate. "I need to find Lily," he said suddenly.

"Not yet," Professor McGonagall interjected for the first time. "Albus, ministry officials will be along any moment, they'll know you're behind this, we've got to get him out of here."

"Very true," Dumbledore extended a hand to James and pulled him to his feet. James staggered, his legs still unsteady, but Dumbledore steadied him. "James, you will accompany Minerva to the Room of Requirement. I have taken the liberty of obtaining your Invisibility Cloak from your home." Dumbledore drew the long, silky shroud from within his robes. "I suggest, for security purposes, you wear it until you reach your destination. Once there, I want you to rest. As soon as you are again well enough, we will begin the search for Lily."

"Professor, there isn't ti—"

Dumbledore interrupted. "I've sent an owl to Sirius telling him to meet me here in three hours time. I'll send him along as soon as he arrives."

James reluctantly threw the cloak over his shoulders, turning to follow Professor McGonagall down the stairs, when Dumbledore called him back. "James."

James halted, letting the cloak slip off his head so Dumbledore could see him. "Professor?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Welcome back."


End file.
